THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


vt 


John  Wbnt  CfraOtoiefc. 


LATER  POEMS.  i2mo,  $1.25,  net.  Post- 
age extra. 

WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING.  With 
two  photogravure  Portraits.  Crown  8vo, 
gilt  top,  $1.75,  net.  Postage,  13  cents. 

THEODORE  PARKER:  PREACHER  AND 
REFORMER.  With  two  photogravure  Por- 
traits. Crown  8vo,  gilt  top,  $2.00. 

HOUGHTON.  MIFFLIN  &  COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


LATER   POEMS 


LATER  POEMS 


BY 


JOHN  WHITE  CHADWICK 


Go,  speed  the  stars  of  Thought 
On  to  their  shining  goals  ;  — 
The  sower  scatters  broad  his  seed ; 
The  wheat  thou  strew'st  be  souls. 

EMERSON. 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1905 


COPYRIGHT   1905   BY   ANNIE  H.   CHADWICK 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  Afril  jqoj 


PREFACE 

IT  had  been  Mr.  Chadwick's  hope  to  have  these  poems 
published  just  before  the  fortieth  anniversary  of  his 
installation  (December  21,  1904),  but  being  unable  to 
accomplish  this  he  had  laid  them  aside,  intending  to  com- 
plete the  work  upon  them  later.  I  am  sure  I  am  only 
carrying  out  his  wishes  in  publishing  them  at  this  time. 

I  have  tried  to  arrange  them  in  chronological  order, 
but  I  know  I  have  not  succeeded  in  every  case. 

ANNIE  H.  CHADWICK. 
BROOKLYN,  February  9,  1905. 


5285S7 

LIBRARt 


CONTENTS 


A  COMMON  WEED         .        .        .        .       .       .       .       •        i 

MOIRA          .        .       .       ...       .        .        .        .  4 

THE  PILGRIM  WAY       .        .        .        .        .       .       .       .        5 

ABRAHAM  KUENEN "•  . '     .         12 

ANNIVERSARY  HYMN     .        .        .       .       ...        .      13 

THE  BLIND  GENTIAN         .       ..       .-.'*..       .          15 

A  COOKING  LESSON      .       .       ,        .       . .      .       .        .17 

EOSTRA        .        .      ...       .       .        ....       .        .         20 

THE  KING'S  DIARY        .        .        .        .       .  .        .22 

HYMN   FOR   THE    TWENTY-FIFTH   ANNIVERSARY  OF  MY 

INSTALLATION,  DECEMBER  21,  1889  ....         23 

A  MISSIONARY  CHANT  .        .        .        ...        .        .25 

OUR  CHRISTMAS  DAY 29 

BIRTHDAY  REMEMBRANCE 33 

AN  EASTER  HYMN 34 

AT  BREAK  OF  DAY       .        .        ....        .        .36 

ON  HOLY  GROUND 37 

LOVE,  DEATH,  AND  SORROW        ......      39 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 40 

To  A  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND 45 

COUNTER-ACCUSATION 47 

WILLIAM  HENRY  FURNESS 48 

A  THOUGHT  OF  WHITTIER 49 

THE  PRICELESS  PEARL 50 


x  CONTENTS 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 144 

THE  SCANT  SUPPLY      .        .        ...       .       .        .149 

TIMEO  DANAOS 150 

"SHORE  ACRES" 151 

"O  THAT  LAND!  THAT  LAND" 152 

LATE  KNOWLEDGE 153 

DEFIANCE 154 

THE  BROKEN  GLASS 155 

FAINT,  YET  PURSUING 156 


LATER   POEMS 


LATER   POEMS 


A  COMMON  WEED 

I  FIND  it  growing  here  and  there 

In  many  places  far  away 
From  that,  so  dear  and  pleasant,  where 

I  first  beheld  its  mean  array. 

Oft  have  I  asked  what  name  it  bears, 
But  none  is  wise  enough  to  tell ; 

"  Only  a  common  weed !  "  it  wears 
That  modest  blazon  passing  well. 

No  shame  it  ever  seems  to  take, 

Whatever  company  it  keeps ; 
Nor  —  vagabond  of  flowers  —  to  make 

The  least  ado  where'er  it  sleeps. 

It  has  no  beauty  to  desire, 

Gives,  leaf  nor  bloom,  no  pleasant  smell ; 
Yet  are  there  flowers  which  I  admire, 

But  do  not  love  one  half  so  well. 
i 


A  COMMON  WEED 

And  why  but  that  when  I  was  small,  — 
A  little  boy  of  summers  few,  — 

Beside  a  ruddy  cottage  wall 

This  common  weed  so  blithely  grew, 

As  if  it  were  the  fairest  rose 
That  ever  on  the  breast  of  June 

Made  sweetness  there ;  so  from  it  flows 
A  spell  that  puts  my  heart  in  tune 

With  all  the  poor  pathetic  things 
Of  that  young  life  so  long  ago, 

And  from  their  shape  and  action  brings 
A  kindling  warmth,  a  kindly  glow. 

I  see  again  the  tiny  yard 

That  neighbored  with  the  open  door, 
The  narrow  plot  of  feeble  sward ; 

Within,  the  spotless  yellow  floor ; 

And,  moving  softly  to  and  fro, 
My  mother  with  her  gentle  eyes, 

My  father  bronzed  as  those  who  go 
Down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  and  wise 

2 


A  COMMON  WEED 

In  all  its  lore ;  my  sisters  dear  — 
I  seem  to  see  them  now  as  then, 

And,  as  the  present  moment  clear, 

All  their  young  ways  come  back  again. 

Nor  these  alone,  but  all  that  made 
My  early  years  so  warm  and  bright, 

That  heaven's  self  might  cheaply  fade 
Matched  with  such  simple-sweet  delight. 

Such  magic  has  this  common  weed 
To  charm  my  backward-yearning  heart, 

That  I  would  plant  its  fruitful  seed 

E'en  where  the  "  skyey  roadways  "  part. 

And  just  because  you  have  the  power 
To  work  this  miracle  for  me,  — 

Poor  little,  nameless,  graceless  flower 
I  love  you  very  tenderly. 


MOIRA 

WHAT  do  I  hear  in  Baby  Moira's  name  ? 
No  sound  of  trees  soft  stirring  in  the  air 

Of  summer  nights  in  gardens  warm  and  sweet ; 
Nay,  but  the  sea-bird's  cry ;  the  loud  acclaim 

Of  winds  that  blow  where  northern  headlands  flare 
And  the  great  waves  dash  even  at  their  feet  — 
The  wild  sea-horses  that  no  man  can  tame. 


THE  PILGRIM  WAY 

NULL  A   VESTIGIA   RETRORSUM 

Read  at  a  dinner  of  the  New  England  Society  of  Brooklyn,  Decem- 
ber 21,  1885. 

You  know  the  picture  :  On  the  windy  beach 
John  Alden  and  Priscilla  stand  apart, 

Speaking  no  word  ;  so  still  it  seems  that  each 
Might  hear  the  beating  of  the  other's  heart. 

No  dream  is  theirs  of  that  degenerate  time, 
When  one,  a  scion  of  their  vigorous  stock, 

Our  gentlest  poet,  in  a  tender  rhyme 

Shall  all  the  treasure  of  their  hearts  unlock. 

That  lessening  sail  against  the  eastern  sky  — 
What  costly  freight  is  buried  in  her  hold 

Whose  loss  should  make  the  April  sunshine  lie 
On  sea  and  shore  so  cheerless,  gray,  and  cold  ? 

Their  thoughts  are  all  with  her,  but  they  outwing 
Her  laggard  course  across  the  treacherous  deep, 

Nor  pause  till  they  can  nestle  where  the  spring 

In  English  lanes  has  just  begun  to  peep. 

5 


THE  PILGRIM   WAY 

How  sweet  it  were  to  keep  their  bridal  there 
When,  after  April,  May  should  come  apace, 

And  then  the  summer,  as  an  angel  fair, 

Should  laugh  outright  in  June's  all-perfect  face ! 

To  hear  the  joy-bells  in  the  ivied  tower 

Ring  out  their  nuptial  gladness  to  the  breeze, 

And  so  move  homeward  through  a  gleaming  shower 
Of  blossoms  falling  from  the  hawthorn  trees ! 

It  may  not  be ;  but  only  yesterday 

It  might  have  been ;  so  near,  so  very  near, 

The  Mayflower  swinging  at  her  moorings  lay ; 
And  who  would  go  and  who  would  tarry  here  ? 

What  sounds  were  those  that  on  the  eastern  gale 
Came  to  them  there  and  not  to  them  alone  ? 

Voices  that  made  the  ruddiest  faces  pale, 
Sadder  than  ocean's  melancholy  moan  ? 

"  Oh,  fools,"  they  cried,  "  upon  this  barren  shore 

A  better  Church  or  State  to  hope  to  find, 
Or  aught  that  can  your  reverence  kindle  more 
Than  the  dear  things  that  you  have  left  behind,  — 
6 


THE  PILGRIM  WAY 

"  The  homes  wherein  your  fathers  lived  and  died, 

The  fields  they  tilled  with  manful  toil  and  sweat, 
The  churches  where  they  worshiped  side  by  side,  . 
The  shores  where  they  the  rash  invader  met, 

"  The  ordered  custom,  the  unwritten  law, 

A  million  precedents  have  welded  fast 
In  such  a  bond  as  never  others  saw 
In  all  the  mighty  immemorial  past. 

"  What  sweeter  kernel  in  your  rougher  shell  — 

Yours,  who  already  on  the  bleak  hillside 
Have  smoothed  for  corn  the  graves  that  else  would  tell 
How  many  of  your  bravest  ones  have  died  ? 

"  Nay,  but  you  cannot  cheat  the  savage  foe, 

Nor  so  obliterate  your  dead  that  he 
Shall  not  how  feeble  is  your  remnant  know, 
And  band  against  you  with  the  unpitying  sea. 

"  Come  back,  come  back  ;  ere  yet  it  is  too  late 

Leave  your  poor  huts,  your  undistinguished  dead, 
Crowd  the  frail  deck,  upheave  the  anchor's  weight ; 
Quick  be  the  parting,  ay,  the  cursing,  said ! " 
7 


THE  PILGRIM  WAY 

Voices  and  voices !     On  the  barren  lea 

They  heard  them  cry  across  the  cloudy  rack, 

And  every  bush  and  century-growing  tree 

Had  found  a  voice  and  seemed  to  echo,  "  Back  1 " 

"  Back !  "  From  the  forest's  depths  they  heard  it  sound, 
The  voice  of  spirits  eager  for  their  doom. 

" Back! "  From  the  lonely  graves  it  came  and  drowned 
Their  tempted  hearts  in  seas  of  deadlier  gloom. 

But  that  was  yesterday,  and  now  to-day 
Their  poor  ship  falters  in  the  offing  there 

'Twixt  sea  and  sky  as  if  she  would  allay 
With  one  last  hope  the  inevitable  despair. 

Yea,  she  is  gone,  nor  bears  upon  her  deck 
One  man  or  woman  of  the  Pilgrim  band 

For  all  the  horror  of  the  winter's  wreck 
There  in  the  desolate  and  homeless  land. 

No  backward  step !     More  than  the  voices  told 
Of  Merry  England,  in  their  hearts  they  knew  ; 

More  than  the  graves  had  echoed,  and  the  old 

Witch-haunted  forest  pierced  their  bosoms  through. 


THE  PILGRIM  WAY 

But  they  had  chosen  and  they  would  abide, 

Here  they  had  come  and  they  had  come  to  stay ; 

Whatever  loss  or  sorrow  might  betide  — 

No  backward  step ;  this  was  the  Pilgrim  way. 

The  thing  that  has  been  it  shall  be  again : 
So  runs  the  promise  of  the  ancient  Word ; 

And,  oh,  how  often  since  that  morning  when 
John  Alden  and  Priscilla  might  have  heard 

Each  other's  heart-beats,  men  of  Pilgrim  stock 
Have  heard  their  voices  as  they  stood  forlorn 

On  their  own  bleak  and  barren  Plymouth  Rock, 
In  some  great  epoch's  cold  and  cheerless  morn ! 

:  Come  back !  Come  back !  "  How  clear  the  pleading  cry, 

From  old  Tradition's  ivy-mantled  towers, 
From  haunts  where  ease  and  comfort  sleeping  lie, 
Dreaming  away  the  irrevocable  hours ! 

What  old  abuse,  what  hoary  precedent, 

What  chattering  ghost  of  faith  once  fair  and  sweet, 
Has  not  some  measure  to  the  music  lent 

Still  tugging  backward  their  reluctant  feet ! 
9 


THE  PILGRIM  WAY 

Why  should  they  care  a  higher  faith  to  win 
Than  that  which  glorified  their  fathers'  creed  ? 

How  should  they  dare  denounce,  as  't  were  a  sin, 
That  which  their  law  and  custom  had  decreed  ? 

So  from  the  past  and  at  the  future's  gate 

Has  crouched  and  howled  at  them  a  giant  Fear, 
"  Go  back  !  Go  back !    Ere  yet  it  is  too  late ; 
All  hope  abandon  ye  who  enter  here." 

Back  have  they  gone  ?  Not  if  their  spirit  stuff, 
Not  their  flesh  only,  was  the  Pilgrim  kind, 

Which  ever  as  the  way  grows  steep  and  rough 
Shows  a  more  fixed,  unalterable  mind. 

The  time  goes  on ;  the  symbol  does  not  fail ; 
•     For  us  as  for  the  generations  gone 
Good  things  with  bad  must  struggle  to  prevail ; 
With  Error's  might  fair  Reason's  radiant  dawn. 

And  we,  like  them  from  whom  our  stock  derives, 
Elect  on  ways  we  have  not  known  to  go, 

'Gainst  the  night-watches  how  God's  morning  strives 
In  our  own  bosoms  soon  or  late  must  know. 
10 


THE   PILGRIM  WAY 

There  will  be  voices  sounding  in  our  ears, 

Warning  us  backward  from  our  fateful  quest,  — 

Voices  of  all  the  dead  and  vanished  years, 

Voices  of  Doubt  and  Fear  and  Peace  and  Rest. 

Then  when  we  wonder  if  it  were  not  well 

To  strive  no  more,  and  yield  the  vantage  won, 

As  men  plucked  backward  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
Clear  as  in  heaven  our  own  New  England  sun, 

May  our  resolve  be  taken.    It  is  meet 
For  us  to  be  the  Pilgrims  of  our  day ; 

Whatever  graves  may  open  at  our  feet, 

No  backward  step ;  this  is  the  Pilgrim  way ! 


ii 


ABRAHAM   KUENEN 

IN  that  dear  fable  knowledge  has  dethroned, 
The  patriarch  Abraham  from  a  far-off  land, 
Ur  of  the  Chaldees,  came ;  and  his  small  band 

In  Canaan  dwelt  with  him  as  men  who  owned 

They  had  no  city.    But  the  years  atoned 

For  that  first  weakness  :  as  the  blowing  sand 
The  multitude  who  blessed  his  guiding  hand 

On  shores  where  every  alien  water  moaned. 

Our  Father  Abraham !   From  a  place  of  thought, 
Dim,  dark,  and  strange,  and  full  of  evil  dreams, 

By  thee  a  few  at  first  were  safely  brought. 

But  now,  behold,  how  soon  by  countless  streams 

Thy  children  plant  and  build ;  and  none  can  praise 

Too  much  the  courage  of  thy  lonely  ways  ! 


12 


ANNIVERSARY  HYMN 

THOU  glorious  God,  before  whose  face 

The  generations  pass  away, 
As  to  our  eyes  the  tender  grace 

And  marvel  of  each  shining  day  ! 

We  thank  thee  for  the  joy  sublime 
Of  years  so  radiant  with  thy  power 

That  all  the  best  of  endless  time 
Seems  granted  to  the  fleeting  hour. 

We  praise  thee  for  the  surer  right, 
The  clearer  message  from  above, 

The  lengthening  day,  the  shortening  night, 
The  wiser  ministries  of  love. 

We  bless  thee  for  the  friends  we  miss, 
Who  made  our  peace  and  stilled  our  pain  ; 

We  trust  thee  on  some  height  of  bliss 
To  bring  them  close  to  us  again. 
13 


ANNIVERSARY  HYMN 

We  magnify  thy  holy  name  ; 

And,  while  in  thee  our  hearts  rejoice, 
Strong  be  our  wills  through  blame  and  shame 

To  do  the  bidding  of  thy  voice. 


THE  BLIND   GENTIAN 

IT  grows  in  many  a  nook  and  bend 

Our  autumn  ways  along, 
First  cousin  of  the  flower  which  love 

Has  sanctified  with  song. 

A  poor  relation !  so  it  seems, 
Whom  no  one  cares  to  praise  ; 

That  never  gave  a  poet  yet 
One  leaf  among  his  bays. 

No  maiden  lays  you  to  her  breast, 
Or  binds  you  to  her  zone  ; 

No  ruthless  hand  is  glad  to  pluck 
And  claim  you  as  its  own. 

I  often  wonder  what  within 

Doth  secretly  abide ; 
I  never  yet  have  dared  to  draw 

The  clinging  veil  aside. 
15 


THE  BLIND  GENTIAN 

Whatever  fate  hath  made  you  thus,  — 
A  fountain  closely  sealed,  — 

One  lesson  in  your  looks  I  find, 
For  gentle  souls  revealed. 

For  who,  and  not  himself  be  blind, 

Can  pass  your  coverts  by, 
Nor  find  the  colors  that  you  wear 

The  bluest  of  the  sky  ? 

Such  your  reward,  or  such  I  deem, 
For  reverence  pure  and  sweet, 

Which  veils  an  angel-face  where  some 
Rush  in  with  foolish  feet. 

Dear,  humble  flower,  go  home  with  me, 

That  I  may  better  tell : 
With  such  as  are  least  bold  with  heaven 

Doth  most  of  heaven  dwell. 


16 


A  COOKING  LESSON 

'T  WAS  St.  Theresa  gave  it.    She,  you  know, 
Was  here  on  earth  three  centuries  agone, 

And  lived  in  Spain,  and  starved  her  body  so  — 
Her  spirit  too  —  that,  dying,  she  had  won 

Such  fame  for  sainthood  as  was  never  worn 

By  any  other  in  that  land  forlorn. 

And  her  dear  Lord,  or  Mary  ever  mild, 
In  token  of  her  sweet  and  perfect  grace, 

Would  sometimes  grant  her,  happy  as  a  child, 
To  see  a  vision  of  the  heavenly  place ; 

And  oft  for  hours  it  was  her  joy  to  be 

Rapt  in  a  high  and  glorious  ecstasy. 

I 
Then  earth  was  not ;  then  heaven  was  opened  wide ; 

Then  once,  they  tell,  that  with  a  flaming  spear 
Her  Saviour  ravished  from  her  bleeding  side 

Her  living  heart ;  while  she,  without  a  fear, 
Could  wish  no  blessing  greater,  only  so 
To  be  forever  in  her  gladsome  woe. 


A  COOKING  LESSON 

The  coming  rapture  gave  no  sign  before, 
Nor  made  account  of  any  task  in  hand  ; 

And  once  it  chanced  to  seize  her  at  the  hour 
When  she  was  cooking  for  the  convent  band ; 

Not  as  our  daughters  do  who  know  by  heart 

A  hundred  secrets  of  the  gentle  art, 

But  not  indifferently  to  the  humble  task. 

'T  was  fish  that  day,  just  turning  to  a  brown 
No  Andalusian  girl  could  softer  ask 

For  her  dear  cheek,  when  swift  and  sudden  down 
The  vision  swept,  and  she  was  caught  away 
Into  a  light  which  was  not  that  of  day. 

To  save  the  dinner !   not  to  lose  her  grip 

Upon  the  fry-pan  —  that  was  her  last  thought 
Just  as  she  felt  her  footing  wholly  slip 
^  Away  from  earth,  and  heaven  its  splendor  brought 
So  close  to  her  that  she  could  lay  her  hand 
On  things  that  angels  scarce  can  understand. 

The  vision  passed,  and  sooner  than  her  wish 

Earth  had  come  back ;  and  in  her  hand  behold 
The  fry-pan  still,  and  in  the  pan  the  fish 
18 


A  COOKING  LESSON 

Done  to  a  charm !  The  kitchen  centuries  old 
Had  never  furnished  forth  a  daintier  bit  — 
For  angels'  food  it  had  not  been  unfit. 

Dear  sister  sainted,  be  our  pattern  saint 

In  this  at  least :  whatever  ecstasy 
May  shake  our  souls,  till  we,  with  rapture  faint, 

Seem  less  on  earth  than  in  the  heavens  to  be, 
As  thou  didst  not  thy  proper  task  forego 
While  heaven's  rose  showed  many  a  mystic  row, 

So  may  it  be  with  us !  From  common  tasks 
Of  love  and  duty  may  no  visions  lure, 

And  each  but  prove  an  angel  that  enmasks 

With  glorious  semblance  service  sweet  and  pure ! 

Work,  love-inspired,  is  better  than  the  best 

Imagined  foretaste  of  the  heavenly  rest. 


EOSTRA 

GODDESS  of  the  early  days 

When  the  world  was  fresh  and  young  — 
Whom  our  fathers  loved  to  praise, 

Whom  they  worshiped,  whom  they  sung, 
Art  thou  nothing  in  our  time 
But  the  heading  of  a  rhyme  ? 

Dying,  thou  didst  give  thy  name 
To  the  Christian's  feast  of  life, 

Feast  that  celebrates  the  fame 
Of  an  hour  with  wonders  rife,  — 

Hour  that  wrought  of  death  the  doom, 

When  was  rent  the  sacred  tomb. 

They  that  trust  the  wondrous  tale, 
They  that  keep  the  happy  time, 

Have  for  thee  no  gracious  "Hail!" 
Have  for  thee  no  tuneful  rhyme  — 

Thankless  even  for  thy  name, 

For  their  day  of  joyous  fame. 
20 


EOSTRA 

But  whenever  hearts  are  fain 

For  the  winter  past  away, 
When  the  springtime  once  again 

Makes  them  happy,  makes  them  gay,  • 
Goddess  bright,  thy  praise  is  sung 
Now  as  when  the  world  was  young. 


21 


THE  KING'S   DIARY 

JULY    14,   1789 

"  RIEN,"  he  wrote,  because  it  chanced  that  day 

There  was  no  hunt  of  fawn  or  stag  or  boar. 
All  else  was  nothing  to  the  man  who  wore 
The  crown  which  once  the  brows  of  Hugh  Capet 
Had  ached  beneath,  eight  centuries  away. 

Since  then  what  well-belov'd  and  hated  more 
Had  worn  it  lightly,  or  with  anguish  sore, 
Some  strong  to  rule  and  many  but  to  slay ! 

"Nothing  !  "  And,  while  he  wrote  the  senseless  word, 
The  tocsin  rang  in  Paris ;  the  human  flood 
Poured  onward  raging  till  it  came  where  stood 
The  Bastille.    Soon  the  foolish  King  had  heard 
How  prone  it  lay.    Behold  his  aimless  wit: 
He  and  his  kingdom  were  as  he  had  writ. 

1889 


22 


HYMN 

FOR    THE    TWENTY-FIFTH     ANNIVERSARY     OF    MY    INSTAL- 
LATION,   DECEMBER    21,   1889 

O  THOU  whose  perfect  goodness  crowns 
With  peace  and  joy  this  sacred  day, 

Our  hearts  are  glad  for  all  the  years 
Thy  love  has  kept  us  in  thy  way. 

Thy  glorious  truth  has  made  us  free 

From  bounds  of  sect  and  bonds  of  creed ; 

Thy  light  has  shone  that  we  might  see 
Our  own  in  every  brother's  need. 

For  common  tasks  of  help  and  cheer, 
For  quiet  hours  of  thought  and  prayer, 

For  moments  when  we  seemed  to  feel 
The  breath  of  a  diviner  air; 

For  mutual  love  and  trust  that  keep 

Unchanged  through  all  the  changing  time  ; 

For  friends  within  the  veil  who  thrill 
Our  spirits  with  a  hope  sublime,  — 
23 


HYMN 

For  this  and  more  than  words  can  say, 
We  praise  and  bless  thy  holy  name. 

Come  life  or  death :  enough  to  know 
That  thou  art  evermore  the  same  ! 


24 


A  MISSIONARY  CHANT 

Read  at  a  Missionary  Meeting  at  Saratoga. 

SPIRIT  of  God,  in  whom  we  live, 
Be  with  us  in  this  fateful  hour, 

And  on  our  spirits  shed  abroad 
The  tokens  of  thy  gracious  power. 

With  softened  hearts  we  think  of  those, 
The  fathers  of  our  heavenly  birth, 

Whose  will  was  good  to  all  mankind, 
Whose  song  was  ever,  Peace  on  earth. 

With  serious  mind  and  calm  intent, 
They  followed  hard  in  darkest  night 

That  gleam  of  truth  to  them  revealed 
From  thine  eternal  light  of  light. 

It  led  them  far  from  beaten  ways ; 

But  evermore,  with  faith  unfeigned, 
They  held  their  course,  as  men  who  knew 

A  guiding  star  that  never  waned. 
25 


A  MISSIONARY  CHANT 

As  for  our  fathers,  so  for  us 

May  that  supernal  radiance  shine, 

Our  path  illume,  our  spirits  cheer, 
By  day  and  night  a  conquering  sign ! 

Not  ours  the  earth  they  calmly  trod, 
Nor  ours  the  heavens  that  to  their  eyes, 

Star  answering  star,  in  silence  spoke 
A  thousand  tender  mysteries. 

Our  earth  a  deeper  wonder  shows, 
Our  skies  a  mightier  host  reveal, 

Our  bells  of  God  their  changes  ring 
With  fuller  chords  and  grander  peal. 

All  things,  O  God,  thou  makest  new 
From  age  to  age ;  thy  plastic  hand 

Our  reason's  force,  whereto  the  worlds 
Are  shaped  as  by  thy  sole  command. 

But  vain  the  vision's  wider  scope, 
And  vain  the  glory  vaster  grown, 

If  'mid  the  splendor,  awful,  cold, 
We  orphaned  walk,  aghast,  alone ! 
26 


A  MISSIONARY  CHANT 

Not  such  our  lot,  but,  choosing  truth, 
We  ever  choose  the  better  part ; 

And  every  tide  of  knowledge  bears 
Thy  children  closer  to  thy  heart. 

How  can  we  thank  thee,  gracious  God, 
For  what  no  worth  of  ours  has  bought,  — 

The  cheerful  faith,  the  glorious  hope, 
The  wider,  deeper,  grander  thought  ? 

Oh,  not  by  words !  as  idle  wind 

They  come  and  go,  and  leave  unpaid 

Our  growing  debt,  till  of  our  good 
We  stand  in  awe  and  half  afraid. 

Thy  spirit  shows  a  better  way : 

Deep  in  our  hearts  its  mystic  word 

Is  clear  and  strong,  as  if  the  ear, 

List'ning,  some  voice  from  heaven  heard. 

It  bids  us  wake  from  idle  dreams, 
To  pluck  our  talent  from  the  ground, 

To  gird  our  loins  and  go  our  way 
Until  that  grievous  place  be  found 
27 


A  MISSIONARY  CHANT 

Where  man  for  man  a  monster  is, 
And  God  another,  strong  in  might, 

And  death,  eternal  death,  were  sweet, 
If  dreaming  so  were  dreaming  right. 

It  bids  us  go  where  doubt  has  wrung 
Man's  hope  from  out  his  aching  breast, 

And  all  is  dark,  and  for  his  feet, 
Far-wandering,  there  is  no  rest. 

A  deeper  depth  invites  us  still, 

Where  sin  and  shame  the  image  mar 

Of  God  in  man ;  where  wrath  and  scorn 
Are  near  and  drear,  and  love  is  far. 

Spirit  of  God,  in  thunder  speak, 
To  rouse  us  from  our  sluggish  joy ; 

Our  soft  content  accursed  make, 
Our  peace  with  sharpest  pain  alloy, 

Until  for  darkened  souls,  whom  we 
Can  of  our  light  and  gladness  give, 

Light  has  sprung  up ;  and  so  our  thanks 

Thou  shalt  at  length,  O  God,  receive. 

28 


OUR  CHRISTMAS  DAY 

WHAT  means  for  us  this  sacred  day 
By  all  the  happy  children  blest, 

So  long  desired,  it  breaks  in  dreams 
The  quiet  of  their  rest  ? 

Not  ours  the  angels'  peaceful  song 
From  heaven's  height  nor  orient  star, 

The  magi's  trackless  way  to  guide 
With  radiance  pure  and  far. 

But  still  upon  the  inward  ear 

That  song  descends  with  music  sweet, 
Our  hearts  to  cheer  on  darksome  ways, 

With  patience  for  our  feet. 

It  sings  the  hope  of  things  to  be 
Beyond  the  anger  and  the  strife, 

When  all  the  cruel  hate  shall  cease, 
And  Love  be  Lord  of  life. 
29 


OUR  CHRISTMAS   DAY 

No  fabled  mystery  is  ours 

Of  One  who  for  her  honor  made 

The  peasant's  wife  his  heavenly  bride, 
And  she  was  not  afraid. 

No  greater  mystery  we  crave 
Than  every  gentle  mother  shows 

When,  by  God's  grace,  another  life 
Within  her  own  she  knows. 

What  need  of  miracle  to  make 
One  Son  of  Man  the  Son  of  God, 

When  all  the  sons  of  men  that  e'er 
Earth's  temple-floor  have  trod 

Have  but  one  lineage  great  and  high, 

One  Father  who  is  over  all 
The  heights  of  heaven,  the  deeps  of  hell,  — 

Who  hears  them  when  they  call  ? 

Nor  less  if  Brahm  or  Zeus  the  name, 
Than  when  as  God  or  Lord  addressed  : 

The  prayer  that  trusts  and  loves  the  most 
For  him  is  ever  best. 
30 


OUR  CHRISTMAS   DAY 

O  brother  of  the  righteous  will, 
O  brother  full  of  power  and  grace, 

Without  one  thought  of  fear  or  shame, 
We  come  before  thy  face  ! 

Not  ours  to  hail  thee  as  the  saints 
Of  olden  times,  as  some  to-day, 

God,  very  God ;  and  still  to  us 
Thou  art  the  Life,  the  Way. 

Thou  art  the  Life  :  in  thee  we  find 
The  glory  that  our  lives  might  wear 

If  we  for  love  and  truth  and  right 
Could  learn  to  do  and  dare. 

Thou  art  the  Way  ;  for,  still  to  know 
What  goodness  ever  reigns  above, 

There  is  no  other  way  than  thine,  — 
To  live  the  life  of  love. 

One  God  have  we  !     Sufficeth  He 
For  every  want  our  souls  can  know ; 

He  holds  us  with  his  loving  hand, 
He  will  not  let  us  go. 
31 


OUR  CHRISTMAS   DAY 

We  love  thee  for  thy  tender  love 
To  want  and  sin  and  sorrow  shown ; 

We  reverence  all  thy  truth  and  grace ; 
We  worship  God  alone. 

Lo,  in  such  heart  we  come  with  all 
Who  hail  thee  on  this  sacred  day 

In  various  speech  !   Thou  wilt  not  spurn 
Our  simple  gift  away. 


BIRTHDAY   REMEMBRANCE 

I  'M  sure,  dear  friends,  that  you  have  heard  the  story 
Of  Walter  Savage  Lander's  laureled  head, 

How  one  who  for  that  deed  now  lives  in  glory 
Plucked  out  his  one  white  hair  and  sweetly  said, 

It  was  her  own.   And  you,  my  friends,  most  kindly, 
The  fact  that  I  am  growing  old  would  hide 

With  lovely  flowers,  and  fain  would  I  as  blindly 
As  might  be  in  this  pretty  scheme  of  yours  confide. 

But,  gentle  friends,  the  fact  cannot  be  hidden ; 

What  can  be  done  I  Ve  done  to  keep  it  close, 
Friends  have  I  bribed  and  others  have  I  chidden, 

There's  nothing  for  me  but  to  take  the  dose. 

But  in  the  flowers  you  sent  the  goblet  wreathing, 

It  does  n't  taste  so  bad  as  else  it  might, 
And  so,  a  blessing  on  your  kindness  breathing, 

I  toss  it  off  and  bid  you  both  good-night. 
1890 

33 


AN   EASTER  HYMN 

THOU  whose  spirit  dwells  in  all, 
Primal  source  of  life  and  mind, 

In  the  clod  as  in  the  soul, 
Ever  full  and  unconfined ! 

What  shall  separate  from  thee  ? 

Naught  of  all  created  things  ! 
Joy  and  sorrow,  good  and  ill, 

Each  from  thee  its  essence  brings. 

Thine  the  atom's  faintest  thrill, 

Thine  the  humblest  creature's  breath, 

Prophet-soul  in  every  kind, 

Yearning  still  through  life  and  death  — 

Yearning  for  the  crowning  race  — 

Man,  in  whom  at  last  is  told 
Every  secret  strange  and  sweet 

From  the  farthest  days  of  old  : 
34 


AN   EASTER   HYMN 

Secrets  too  of  things  to  be, 
In  the  cycles  on  before : 

Love  which  stronger  is  than  death, 

Life  with  thee  forevermore. 
1890 


35 


AT  BREAK  OF  DAY 

JULY    21,    1891 

WHEN  our  darling  passed  away, 
It  was  near  the  break  of  day ; 
And  the  birds  with  one  accord 
Sang  their  praises  to  the  Lord. 

What  a  burst  of  melody ! 
Just  as  if  there  could  not  be, 
In  a  world  so  fair  as  this, 
Room  for  anything  but  bliss ! 

Slower  drew  our  darling's  breath  ; 
Then  the  peace  which  some  call  death 
Folded  down ;  and  all  around 
Still  the  birds  made  happy  sound. 

Was  it  only  birds  that  sung  ? 
On  our  hearts  a  music  rung 
As  of  praises  hymned  at  morn 
When  in  Heaven  a  child  is  born. 
36 


ON   HOLY  GROUND 

WRITTEN    FOR   A    MEETING   OF    THE    NEW    YORK   LEAGUE 
OF   UNITARIAN   WOMEN 

WHAT  has  drawn  us  thus  apart, 
From  the  common  daily  round, 

Bringing  here  a  lowly  heart, 
Standing  as  on  holy  ground  ? 

Not  the  scorn  of  humble  things,  — 
Simplest  tasks  that  love  can  find ; 

Not  the  pride  of  thought  that  brings 
Laggard  will  and  restless  mind. 

Nay,  but  here  upon  the  height, 

Rapt  from  idle  cares  away, 
Fain  our  souls  would  see  a  light, 

Herald  of  the  coming  day  : 

Morning  visions  high  and  pure, 
Glorious  things  that  are  to  be, 

Faith  and  hope  that  shall  endure, 
Love's  abiding  unity ; 
37 


ON   HOLY  GROUND 

All  the  things  that  make  for  peace 
In  the  daily  toil  and  strife ; 

All  that  can  our  part  increase 
In  the  world's  diviner  life. 

Short  the  time  we  linger  here ; 

Then,  with  earnest  heart  and  hand, 
Back  to  work  with  holy  fear ; 

Every  vision,  God's  command. 
1891 


LOVE,  DEATH,  AND  SORROW 

UPON  a  day  of  fierce  and  blinding  rain 

One  they  called  Love  was  wed  with  one  called  Death : 
She  lovely  as  the  rose,  its  breath  her  breath, 

He  swart  as  night ;  and  duly  of  these  twain 

A  child  was  born  called  Sorrow ;  and  with  pain 
Like  unto  theirs  whom  nothing  comforteth 
Love  clove  to  him :  "  My  all  in  all,"  she  saith, 

And  if  he  die  for  what  can  I  be  fain  ? " 

Then  Wisdom  came  and  said,  "  O  foolish  one, 

Why  dost  thou  fear  ?  —  for  Death  is  passing  strong, 

And  thou,  O  Love,  art  yet  more  strong  than  he, 
For  all  his  brawn.  Wherefore  thou  needst  not  shun 
Hurt  for  thy  Sorrow ;  he  shall  live  as  long 
As  thou  canst  wish ;  yea,  only  die  with  thee." 


39 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

READ  BEFORE    THE   BROOKLYN    INSTITUTE    ON    THE  ANNI- 
VERSARY   OF    HIS    BIRTHDAY 

To  that  loved  prelude  of  the  song  of  songs 
Our  friend  and  poet  wrote  for  us,  when  he 
And  Fields  and  Taylor  tented  happily 

On  Hampton  Beach  —  the  simple  tale  belongs. 

How  he  upon  the  shining  sands  had  traced 
This  thing  and  that,  and  by  the  rising  tide, 
Relentless  now  as  when  by  Cnut  defied, 

Saw  all  his  record  quietly  effaced. 

Wherein  a  tender  parable  he  found 
Of  all  the  poems  he  had  ever  made, 
Touched  for  an  hour  by  mingled  sun  and  shade, 

Then  swept  into  oblivion's  great  profound. 

'T  was  like  his  modest  nature  thus  to  shape 
The  fashion  of  his  future  among  men ; 
But  we  whose  coward  hearts  were  failing  when 

Our  good  ship  staggered  off  the  windy  cape 
40 


JOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

Of  Sixty-one,  and  clear  above  the  storm, 

Heard  his  brave  voice  ring  out  hi  Luther's  tone, 
Then  took  fresh  courage,  —  and  not  then  alone,  — 

How  shall  we  not  forever  keep  a  warm 

And  spacious  corner  in  our  hearts  for  him 
Who  helped  us  then,  and  hi  a  hundred  ways 
Has  added  strength  and  beauty  to  our  days  ? 

How  shall  the  tides  his  record  ever  dim  ? 

'T  is  sand  and  rock ;  as  other  men's  the  same, 
Even  the  greatest,  and  the  flood  of  time 
Shall  bear  away  the  weak  and  casual  rhyme, 

But  leave  unspoiled  the  granite  of  his  fame. 

All  we  who  love  New  England's  hills  and  streams, 
The  surges  thundering  on  her  rocky  shore, 
Her  wealth  of  pious  memories,  and  her  store 

Of  fables  rarer  than  our  rarest  dreams, 

How  can  we  ever  but  remember  one 

To  whom  these  things  were  as  his  natural  breath ; 

Who  cherished  them  until  the  gates  of  death 
Shut  him  forever  from  our  genial  sun  ? 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

See  how  he  loved  the  Bearcamp's  hurrying  wave, 
Chocorua's  height,  and  all  the  mountains  round ; 
And  best  of  all  his  Merrimac,  whose  sound 

Makes  a  loved  music  for  his  modest  grave. 

How  in  his  song  the  dead  past  lived  again, 

Old  saints  and  sinners  plied  their  various  trade ; 
And  sweet  for  us  the  love  of  youth  and  maid 

As  if  't  were  ours  —  that  dear,  delicious  pain  ! 

But  could  this  happy  service  be  forgot, 
And  even  from  our  memory  be  razed 
That  Abraham  Davenport  our  poet  praised, 

What  flood  oblivious  could  ever  blot 

From  our  remembrance  what  he  did  for  man, 
And  so  for  God  in  that  accursed  time 
When  slavery's  shadow  darkened  all  our  clime, 

And  truth  and  right  were  ever  under  ban  ? 

Oh,  then  his  Quaker  gun  was  toughest  steel, 
And  shotted  to  the  lips  with  bolts  that  fell, 
Hot  as  with  presage  of  a  coming  hell 

On  men  foredoomed  his  righteous  scorn  to  feel,  — 
42 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

Men  who  God's  image  freely  bought  and  sold, 
The  bloodhounds  baying  on  the  victim's  track, 
The  unctuous  priests  who  would  have  sent  him  back, 

The  poor  scared  sheep,  to  slavery's  reeking  fold. 

All  this  forget  ?  Not  while  our  country  holds 
Her  empire  safe  between  the  sounding  seas, 
And  all  that  love  her,  as  on  bended  knees, 

Thank  God  that  one  humanity  enfolds 

Our  people  now,  no  longer  bond  and  free  ; 
Not  while  we  cherish  any  glorious  name 
Of  those  great  souls  who  won  the  glad  acclaim 

Of  millions  brought  from  death  to  liberty. 

And  once  again,  not  sand,  but  adamant 
The  record  holds  of  all  the  songs  he  sang, 
Filled  with  the  love  of  God ;  his  trumpet  rang, 

And  all  the  walls  of  immemorial  cant, 

And  all  the  watchtowers  of  the  warring  creeds 
Trembled  and  shook  as  those  of  Jericho 
In  that  old  fable  which  the  faithful  know. 

He  told  us  that  it  was  not  words,  but  deeds, 
43 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

That  God  desired ;  and  to  his  raptured  gaze 
The  heavens  were  opened,  and  he  saw  within 
All  souls  that  are,  made  clean  from  every  sin, 

And  walking  glad  the  everlasting  ways. 

He  sang  the  Eternal  Goodness,  —  how  it  lies 
All  pain  and  sin  and  sorrow  round  about,  — 
The  craven  fear,  the  thinker's  honest  doubt, 

Yea,  life  and  death  with  all  their  mysteries. 

Wherefore,  O  poet,  as  thou  goest  on 
Into  the  heart  of  that  great  company, 
Where  all  the  noblest  are  akin  to  thee, 

Fear  not  for  any  work  already  done. 

While  flows  thy  peaceful  river  gently  down 
To  meet  the  sea,  and  while  the  sea  obeys 
That  law  by  which  she  ever  swings  and  sways, 

Thy  fame  is  sure  of  its  immortal  crown. 


TO  A   DEAR  OLD   FRIEND 

APRIL    23,   1892 

IN  dream  I  saw  the  great  assize, 

And  on  the  throne  the  Judge  was  set ; 

And  all  the  folk  were  gathered  round, 
On  business  of  importance  met. 

It  came  your  turn.    I  saw  you  go 
With  modest  mien,  as  here  alway, 

And  heard  you  state  the  simple  fact 

That  you  were  born  on  Shakespeare's  day. 

"  Well,  and  what  poems  have  you  writ  ? 

What  plays  of  wonderful  renown, 
To  match  the  man's  whose  life  began 
By  Avon's  stream  in  Stratford  town  ? " 

More  humbly,  then,  you  bowed  your  head, 
And  said,  "  Your  worship,  if  you  please, 

I  Ve  tried  to  do  my  proper  work : 

I  have  not  done  such  things  as  these." 
45 


TO  A  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND 

The  Judge's  face  grew  stern; 'and  then 
Upspoke  a  man  who,  truth  to  say, 

Looked  more  like  me  than  any  man 
That  I  have  seen  for  many  a  day. 

He  said,  "  If  I  my  voice  may  raise 
In  such  a  vast  immortal  throng, 

I  'd  like  to  speak  this  woman's  praise : 
She  made  her  life  a  perfect  song,  — 

"  A  song  of  faith  and  hope  and  cheer ; 
A  song  of  labor,  peace,  and  love ; 
A  song  of  every  grace  that  makes 
Our  earth  below  like  heaven  above." 

And  scarce  the  word  had  reached  its  end 
And  waited  answering  judgment,  when 

A  hundred  voices  all  around 

Broke  forth  into  a  great  "Amen !  " 

Then  spoke  the  Judge :  "  Who  maketh  life 
A  song,  doth  that  God  loveth  best : 

Ho,  there,  a  crown,  and  then  a  place 

Up  there  with  Shakespeare  and  the  rest ! 
46 


COUNTER-ACCUSATION 

I  STOOD  beside  the  body  of  one  dead 

Who  had  in  life  been  alien  to  all  good ; 
.    Had  ever  with  the  baser  party  stood, 
Was  ever  to  the  meaner  practice  wed. 
But,  now,  the  form  from  which  the  soul  had  fled 
Was  calm  as  sleep,  and,  on  the  marble  face, 
Of  gross  or  evil  passion  not  one  trace 
Remained.   Then,  softly  to  myself  I  said : 
Much  do  we  hear  about  the  grievous  wrong 
Done  by  the  flesh  to  the  indwelling  soul ; 
But  here  was  one,  —  and  many  there  may  be 
Like  him,  —  whose  spiritual  part  was  strong 

The  subject  flesh  most  basely  to  control. 
Now  from  that  long  enslavement  it  is  free. 


WILLIAM   HENRY  FURNESS 

APRIL  20,  1892 

Serus  in  ccelum  !  But,  when  you  shall  hear 

The  tardy  summons,  and  shall  straightway  pass 

Into  that  world  where  we  no  more  shall  see 
Dimly,  as  if  reflected  in  a  glass, 

The  friends  we  love,  but  clearly,  face  to  face, 
I  know  of  One  who,  when  he  comes  your  way, 

Will  smile  upon  you  very  graciously, 
And  in  a  voice  all  gentleness  will  say : 

Many  have  loved  me  well,  but  none,  I  deem, 
Better  than  you.    Now  sit  you  here  by  me, 

And  how  my  day  was  like  your  lovely  dream, 
And  how  't  was  other,  you  shall  plainly  see." 

And  half,  it  seems,  I  should  be  glad,  dear  friend, 
My  days  to  shorten  of  their  natural  span, 

So  might  I  stand  a  little  way  apart, 

When,  without  glass,  you  see  the  Son  of  Man. 
48 


A  THOUGHT  OF  WHITTIER 

"  That  the  thoughts  of  many  hearts  may  be  revealed." 

IT  was  not  much,  O  death,  to  quell  the  strength 

Which  trembled  in  that  slight  and  spiritual  frame 
Which  the  long  years,  albeit  free  of  blame, 

Had  wasted  so  that  unto  us  at  length 

Hardly  he  seemed  to  be  a  mortal  man, 

But  one  who  out  of  heaven  had  wandered  back 
To  bless  awhile  our  dark  and  stumbling  track 

With  speech  of  things  beyond  our  earthly  span. 

But  this,  O  death,  is  strange  :  that  thou  hadst  power 
To  quench  the  light  that  was  in  those  clear  eyes 
Which  brighter  shone  as  from  the  evening  skies 

The  darkness  fell  upon  his  sunset  hour. 

Absolute  loss  ?  or  there,  beyond  the  tomb, 
Wilt  thou,  O  God,  their  glorious  light  relume  ? 

1892 


49 


THE  PRICELESS   PEARL 

Written  after  reading  Mr.  T.  W.  Higginson's  Sonnet,  "  An  Egyptian 
Banquet." 

"  DEATH,  the  Egyptian,  melts  and  drinks  the  pearl : " 

And  straight  a  rapture  through  his  being  runs, 

A  fire  that  seems  the  essence  of  all  suns 
That  ever  made  the  summer  pomp  unfurl 
Its  banners,  and  the  green  leaves  softly  curl 

Back  from  the  fruit ;  a  sense  of  shining  ones 

Engirding  round,  until  his  vision  shuns 
The  awful  splendor  of  that  radiant  whorl. 
And  then  a  voice :  These  things  wouldst  thou  explore  ? 

Who  drinks  the  pearl  of  life  compounded  so 
Of  love,  and  joy,  and  hope,  and  peace,  and  pain  — 

All  sweetest,  saddest  things  that  mortals  know  — 
Drinks  to  his  own  salvation  :  he  shall  gain 
Life  beyond  life,  and  Death  shall  be  no  more. 

1892 


THE  MOUNTAIN 

FROM  lands  of  sunshine  gay  with  bloom 
We  took  the  Northern  course  and  came 

To  that  great  city  which  delights  — 
Grim  satire  —  in  Seattle's  name. 

A  remnant  weak,  his  people  take 

The  crumbs  that  from  her  table  fall : 

The  past  is  theirs  :  the  future  hers 
Who  crowds  them  rudely  to  the  wall. 

Proudly  she  sits  upon  her  hills, 

Her  various  waters  gleaming  round ; 

Her  snowy-crested  mountains  fair 

Soft-mirrored  in  their  bloom  profound. 

But  one,  the  top  and  crown  of  all 
High-soaring  far  above  the  rest, 

Hid  in  impenetrable  clouds 

His  towering  head,  his  ample  breast. 


THE  MOUNTAIN 

But  oh  !  at  length  a  morning  dawned  — 
One  more  divine  earth  never  knew  — 

When,  better  far  than  tales  or  dream, 
The  mountain  clove  the  heavenly  blue  I 

The  Mountain  !   All  the  snowy  peaks, 
Which  mountains  seemed  the  day  before, 

That  day  were  little  hills,  so  high 
We  saw  the  highest  climb  and  soar. 

So  high !  so  grand  !  and  yet  withal 

So  sweetly,  delicately  fair, 
We  had  believed,  if  one  had  said, 

"  A  dream,  a  phantom,  of  the  air." 

And,  as  the  perfect  day  went  by, 

More  dreamlike  still  the  mountain  grew, 

As  gathering  mists  —  a  purple  zone  — 
Around  his  base  their  vesture  drew. 

All  white  and  pure  uplifted  there, 

It  floated  in  thetazure  deep, 
A  hill  of  heaven,  a  Mount  of  God ! 

It  made  our  hearts  with  gladness  leap. 


THE  MOUNTAIN 

The  things  of  sense  are  types  of  soul : 
How  oft  for  many  days  the  best 

Is  thick  involved  in  clouds  that  chill 
Man's  heart  within  his  lonely  breast ! 

And  then  there  comes  a  day  of  days, 
And,  floating  bright  in  heavenly  air, 

He  sees  the  Mount  of  God,  all  white 
With  fields  of  faith  and  founts  of  prayer. 

And  by  that  glorious  vision  blest, 

He  knows  the  peace  that  passeth  thought. 

God  folds  him  to  his  heart ;  his  good 
Is  better  than  the  best  he  sought. 

'893 


53 


DECEMBER  VIOLETS 

FOR  the  day  you  celebrate 
I  am,  dear  friends,  a  day  too  late. 
Tardier  still  the  flowers  I  bring 
Blossoms  of  an  early  spring  ? 
Nay,  for  in  your  hearts  I  know 
Still  the  spring-time  blossoms  blow 
Now  as  twenty  years  ago. 
Dare  you  say  it  is  n't  so  ? 
And  when  your  December  lies 
On  your  hearts  as  gentle-wise 
As  new  snow  upon  the  ground, 
Still  the  violets  will  be  found 
Under  that  all  safe  and  sound. 
1893 


54 


DOGMATIST  AND  AGNOSTIC 

THIS  one  the  Mystery  deems  so  small 
It  seems  to  him  he  knows  it  all, 

As  one  a  handful  clips ; 
And  to  the  other  't  is  so  vast 
He  can  but  stand  with  eyes  downcast, 

His  finger  on  his  lips. 
1893 


55 


A  HAPPY  MEETING 

DAY  after  day  went  gladly  by, 

And  night  to  night  new  splendors  lent, 
As  from  the  East  we  sought  the  West, 

And  spanned  the  mighty  continent. 

At  length  the  happy  goal  attained, 

The  blue  Pacific  at  our  feet, 
What  magic  changes  all  around 

Our  senses  charm,  our  vision  greet  1 

Its  golden  globes  amidst  the  green 
The  orange  hangs  like  fairy  lights, 

The  poppies  flame  in  every  mead, 

Fresh  wonders  crown  the  novel  heights. 

All  new  and  strange !  —  until  one  day, 
Beneath  the  live-oak's  generous  shade, 

A  little  flower  I  chanced  to  spy : 
No  prettier  flower  God  ever  made. 
56 


A  HAPPY  MEETING 

Then  straight  the  landscape  swam  in  mist, 
Mountains  and  sea  were  lost  to  view, 

I  trod  the  Atlantic's  rocky  shore 

And  saw  the  things  my  boyhood  knew. 

There  had  I  plucked  this  tiny  flower 
Or  spared  it  in  its  narrow  place, 

Long,  long  ago,  and  wondered  much 
At  such  a  happy  little  face. 

So  far  away,  and  yet  the  same  ! 

And,  if  the  truth  I  dare  to  tell, 
I  could  have  kissed  its  ruddy  bloom,  — 

That  sturdy  little  pimpernel. 

For  to  my  heart  a  message  sped 
From  out  the  bosom  of  the  flower, 

Which  shall  not  fail  for  many  a  day 
To  cheer  me  with  its  gracious  power. 

A  sign  and  symbol  shall  it  be 

Of  humble  things,  which,  though  we  range 
From  farthest  East  to  farthest  West, 

Like  God  are  sure,  and  never  change. 
SANTA  BARBARA,  CAL.,  1893 

57 


DEFEAT 

I  KNEW  a  captain  girded  by  the  foe, 

Who  might,  had  not  his  coward  courage  failed, 
Have  splendidly  the  hostile  front  assailed, 

And  followed  up  his  vantage  blow  on  blow, 

Until  it  reeled  and  broke  and  fled.  But  no !  — 
He  still  must  wait  until  his  trumpets  hailed 
A  hireling  troop  to  help  him ;  then  prevailed,  — 

And  thought  himself  a  victor,  doing  so. 

I  better  knew  of  one  who,  sore  beset, 

Had  conquered  by  his  force  of  heavenly  will, 
But  he,  more  curst,  must  wait  and  wait  until 

With  him  vile  circumstance  had  basely  met 

To  help  him  through.    Him  let  no  plaudits  greet, 
Self-conquered  with  immeasurable  defeat. 
1893 


CHURCH   ANNIVERSARY   HYMN 

WITH  earnest  hearts  and  willing  hands, 
With  spirit  high  and  purpose  fair, 

O  God,  our  fathers  built  to  thee 

This  home  of  faith,  this  house  of  prayer. 

Here  Truth  revealed  her  glorious  face, 
And  Right  her  solemn  mandate  gave, 

And  Love  triumphant  over  Death 
Saw  all  her  mystic  banners  wave. 

Here  Peace  possessed  the  troubled  mind, 
And  Passion's  stormy  heart  was  stilled ; 

And  sweet  on  trembling  lips  became 
The  cup  with  sorrow  over-filled. 

Our  fathers'  God,  not  less  than  theirs 
Our  need  of  help  and  strength  and  cheer, 

The  stern  rebuke,  the  healing  hand,  — 
Oh,  may  we  come  and  find  them  here ! 
59 


CHURCH  ANNIVERSARY  HYMN 

And  ever,  by  their  memory  blest, 
May  we  their  faith  and  love  renew ; 

Still  seeking  higher  things  to  know, 
Still  finding  grander  work  to  do. 


60 


THE  SECRET  FLAW 

LIFE-SCULPTORS  we,  and  on  our  solemn  dream 
The  image  dawns  of  perfect  things  to  be ; 
Whereat  we  labor  long  and  lovingly, 

Until  no  more  their  wonders  merely  seem, 

But  real  grow,  and  on  our  vision  gleam 

All  white  and  pure,  and  in  their  eyes  the  free 
Glad  look  of  souls  that  stand  rejoicingly 

Full  in  the  light  of  God's  eternal  beam. 

T  is  bravely  said ;  but  there  was  one  who  well, 
It  seemed,  had  so  conceived ;  with  ceaseless  toil 

He  wrought,  until  at  length,  half -blind  with  tears, 
Some  secret  flaw  his  whole  creation  spoil 

He  saw  too  late.   Alas !  the  wasted  years, 

And  in  those  eyes  the  auguries  of  hell ! 
1893 


61 


TO   ROBERT  COLLYER 

ON    HIS    70TH   BIRTHDAY 

You  dear  old  Robert  whom  we  love  so  well, 
If  we  the  half  of  all  our  love  should  tell, 
.     You  would  grow  red,  as  was  that  famous  rose 
Of  York  which  blushed,  as  every  poet  knows, 
To  Lancaster  on  some  soft  bosom's  swell. 

And  that  would  not  be  right  and  fit ;  for  you 
To  York's  white  rose  have  ever  been  as  true 
As  saints  to  God,  —  have  worn  it  in  your  heart, 
Have  made  its  whiteness  of  your  soul  a  part, 
Fresh  as  that  rose  impearled  with  morning's  dew. 

We  like  to  have  you  round ;  we  like  to  see 
That  crown  of  glory  which  so  jauntily 
You  wear,  as  if  already  you  had  been 
Promoted,  and  the  blessed  things  had  seen 
Which,  at  life's  best,  we  know  are  sure  to  be. 
62 


TO  ROBERT  COLLYER 

We  like  your  shining  face  ;  it  does  us  good 
To  see  it  beam ;  it  makes  our  lazy  blood 

Move  faster,  and  our  quickened  hearts  expand ; 

And,  when  you  hold  us  by  your  mighty  hand, 
Some  doubtful  things  are  better  understood. 

How  is  it,  Robert  ?   We,  who  strive  with  you 
Some  noble  work  for  God  and  man  to  do, 
We  argue,  and  we  fret  ourselves  to  prove 
The  Perfect  Life,  the  All-embracing  Love ; 
But  you  just  feel  and  know  these  things  are  true. 

What  is  the  secret  ?    If  you  can,  impart 
Your  cheery  gospel  of  the  trusting  heart. 
But,  if  't  is  not  transferable,  why,  then, 
No  whit  the  less  we  bring  a  glad  amen,  — 
Glad  that  you,  somehow,  know  the  blessed  art. 

There  are  two  fountains,  one  of  tears,  and  one 
Of  wholesome  laughter ;  and  they  play  and  run 
Anear  each  other.   You  to  both  have  gone 
And  drunk  your  fill,  and  then  have  led  us  on 
To  where  they  gleam  and  ripple  in  the  sun. 
63 


TO  ROBERT  COLLYER 

You  are  so  human :  here 's  the  central  fact 
Of  which  your  life  and  speech  are  all  compact. 
All  things  that  touch  the  simple,  common  heart, 
These  have  you  chosen,  —  these,  the  better  part  1 
You  are  so  human,  —  feeling,  thought,  and  act. 

And  yet  the  other  things  you  know  as  well, 
And  love  almost  as  much  :  the  wondrous  spell 

That  nature  weaves  in  grasses,  trees,  and  flowers ; 

The  doings  of  the  busy,  tireless  hours ; 
What  the  birds  know  and  what  they  sometimes  tell. 

Stay  with  us,  Robert !    Do  not  go  away ! 

Stay  with  us  yet  for  many  a  happy  day ! 
Huge,  joyful,  tender,  help  our  duller  ways 
To  ring  with  music  and  to  laugh  with  praise. 

God  bless  you !  and  let  all  the  people  say, 

Amen! 
1893 


64 


"TEMPTED   OF  GOD" 

And  captive  good  attending  captain  ill.  —  SHAKESPEARE,   Sonnet 
LXVI. 

STRANGE  paradox  !   Yet  not  more  strange  and  sad 
Than  true  to  life.    For  often  't  is  the  good 
With  strong  temptation,  not  to  be  withstood, 

That  lures  us  surely  downward  to  the  bad. 

Here  with  some  beauteous  moment  sweet  and  glad, 
There  with  some  voice  of  pity  we  are  woo'd 
Which  to  resist  were  shameful,  if  we  could  ; 

And  straightway,  we  are  passion-drunk  and  mad. 

O  God !  repent ;  nor  give  to  Sin  the  power 
To  bait  her  trap  with  morsels  such  as  these  — 
Things  fair  to  see  and  kindliest  sympathies  — 

Which  turn  our  good  to  evil  in  an  hour, 

Or  with  the  lapse  of  many  treacherous  days, 
Fill  the  whole  soul  with  terror  and  amaze. 


A  LIFE  WELL  LOST 

T  WAS  bitter  cold,  and  on  his  narrow  bed 

Half-clad,  half-warmed,  the  sculptor  sleepless  lay, 

And  shivered  for  the  thing  that  he  had  wrought 
To  sweet  perfection  from  the  insensate  clay. 

How  could  she  bear  the  winter's  sudden  shock  ? 

Would  she  not  crumble  in  the  frosty  air, 
And  all  her  beauty  wane,  and  none  believe 

That  he  had  ever  fashioned  her  so  fair  ? 

It  should  not  be !  and  from  himself  he  drew 
The  covering  poor,  the  garments  thin  and  worn, 

And  wrapped  them  close  about  his  goddess  bright, 
Then,  naked,  waited  for  the  lagging  morn. 

It  came  to  find  his  statue  safe  and  whole, 

And  on  his  couch  the  sculptor  lying  —  dead ; 

Dead,  that  his  work  might  live  when  he  was  cold, 
With  his  proud  heart  supremely  comforted. 
66 


A  LIFE  WELL  LOST 

Brave  heart !  Who  would  not  gladly  freeze  and  die, 
If  something  lovely  from  his  moulding  hand 

Might  him  survive  and  be  a  thing  of  joy 
Forever  in  a  dull  and  weary  land  ? 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT 

READ  ON   THE  HUNDREDTH  ANNIVERSARY  OF  HIS  BIRTH 

THOU  mighty  God,  who  didst  of  old 
The  psalmist's  wondrous  song  inspire, 

Our  hearts  are  glad  that  every  age 
Is  touched  by  thy  immortal  fire. 

We  bless  thee  for  that  radiant  band 
Whose  voices  on  our  western  shore 

Have  made  a  music  clear  and  sweet 
Which  men  shall  love  forevermore. 

Still  fresh  the  grief  that  fills  our  hearts 
For  him  who  lingered  on  awhile, 

When  all  the  rest  had  gone,  to  cheer 
Our  spirits  with  his  happy  smile. 

Dear  poet  of  the  cheerful  heart, 

How  can  our  voices  choked  with  tears 

Lift  up  aright  a  song  to  him 

Whose  cycle  counts  a  hundred  years  ? 
68 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT 

He  loved  the  vales,  the  woods,  the  streams, 
The  mountains  cheered  his  loftier  mind  ; 

The  winds  their  summits  nurtured  found 
His  soul  as  free  and  unconfined. 

A  deeper  joy  his  song  instilled 

For  every  flower  that  gems  the  sod ; 

He  looked  through  Nature's  trembling  veil, 
And  saw  the  face  of  Nature's  God. 

Yet  more  the  press  of  busy  men 
Allured  him  than  the  forest's  aisle, 

And  more  the  strife  with  public  ill 
Than  ever  the  blue  heaven's  smile. 

Wherever  right  her  flag  unfurled, 
And  justice  showed  a  better  way, 

And  truth  and  freedom  spurned  the  night, 
And  hailed  the  burnished  spears  of  day,  - 

There  was  his  place,  and  there  he  made 
His  voice  a  clarion  ringing  clear 

To  rouse  the  sleepers,  wake  the  dead, 
And  stay  the  faint  with  hope  and  cheer. 


WILLIAM   CULLEN   BRYANT 

O  thou  who  in  the  crowded  streets 
As  in  the  leafy  coverts  dim 

His  song  inspired,  be  thou  with  us 
As  ever  in  his  day  with  him, 

That  nature's  good  our  hearts  may  fill 
With  holy  peace  while  still  we  move 

With  tireless  feet  on  duty's  quest, 

And  do  the  patient  work  of  love. 
1894 


DEACON   HUMPHREYS 

94   YEARS    OLD 

THE  storm  had  kept  young  folks  at  home ; 

But  he  was  in  his  place, 
And  bowed  to  words  of  prayer  and  praise 

A  grave  and  reverent  face. 

Not  all  the  preacher's  talk  he  heard, 

Nor  all  the  songs  we  sang ; 
But  not  in  vain  for  him  that  day 

The  cheerful  summons  rang. 

Full  softly  fell  the  snow  without, 

More  softly  on  his  mind 
A  blessing  from  the  many  years 

Which  he  had  left  behind. 

And  whiter  than  the  snow  that  lay 

On  turf  and  bush  and  tree, 
The  angel  thoughts  which  in  his  heart 

Were  gathering  silently. 
71 


DEACON   HUMPHREYS 

The  folk  who  made  the  company 

Were  many  more  for  him 
Than  those  who  entered  at  the  door, 

But  not  more  vague  and  dim. 

They  were  his  friends  of  long  ago, 

The  loved  ones  he  had  lost, 
The  boy  who  died  for  country's  sake, 

And  counted  not  the  cost. 

They  were  the  men  with  whom  he  strove, 

The  lads  with  whom  he  played ; 
They  gathered  round,  they  clasped  his  hands, 

But  he  was  not  afraid. 

They  turned  no  leaf,  they  made  no  noise, 

No  other  knew  them  there ; 
But  who  for  him  sang  sweet  as  they, 

Or  breathed  so  strong  a  prayer  ? 

The  benediction  came  at  last ; 

And  homeward  through  the  snow 
The  people  went  with  happy  talk 

And  laughter  sweet  and  low. 
72 


DEACON  HUMPHREYS 

But  little  spoke  the  aged  man ; 

And  what  he  did  let  fall 
Was  even  as  one  who  dreams  a  dream, 

And  cannot  tell  it  all. 


73 


MY  FATHER'S   QUADRANT 

POOR  homesick  thing,  I  fear  I  do  you  wrong, 
Far  from  the  smiting  of  the  eastern  seas, 

Here  in  my  city  house  to  hang  you  up, 

My  pride  to  flatter  and  mine  eyes  to  please. 

If  you  were  conscious,  you  would  ache  and  moan 
Through  every  fibre  of  your  mystic  frame, 

In  this  dull  place  to  find  yourself  bestowed, 
Nor  hold  me  clear  of  treachery  and  blame. 

How  would  you  long  to  find  yourself  once  more 
Where  the  great  waves  go  rolling  up  and  down, 

And  the  loud  winds  that  spur  their  steaming  flanks 
The  sailors  buffet  and  their  voices  drown ! 

How  would  you  wonder  if  the  honest  hand 
That  held  you  sunward  on  the  heaving  main 

Had  quite  forgot  the  trick  it  knew  of  old, 
And  never  so  would  manage  you  again ! 
74 


MY  FATHER'S  QUADRANT 

Yea,  verily,  it  was  an  honest  hand, 

Warm  with  the  beating  of  an  honest  heart ; 

Never  from  stouter  did  good  courage  come, 
Never  from  truer  the  good  impulse  start. 

You  were  his  guide  on  many  a  dangerous  sea, 
Through  storm  and  darkness  led  him  safely  home 

As  you  to  him,  so  he  shall  be  to  me, 
Whatever  seas  I  sail  or  lands  I  roam. 

So  onward  sped,  I  cannot  steer  amiss, 

Whatever  darkness  gathers  round  my  way ; 

Let  night  come  down,  I  set  the  faithful  watch, 

And  wait  it  out  until  another  day. 
1895 


75 


f 


"DEATH  AND  THE  SCULPTOR" 

STRIVING  to  shape  the  solemn  Sphinx  aright, 
The  sculptor  works  with  high  impassioned  heart. 
A  little  longer  and  his  patient  art 

Shall  triumph.    Lo,  across  his  waning  light, 

Chilling  his  fancy  with  a  sudden  blight, 

A  shadow,  and  an  outstretched  hand  to  part 
The  worker  from  his  work  forever !    Start 

Thou  not,  O  man,  with  miserable  fright. 

How  much  more  grand  this  Presence  than  thy  dream ! 
What  if  her  touch  that  seals  thy  pleading  eyes 
Shall  them  reopen  under  larger  skies, 

Where  all  thou  here  essay'dst  in  vain  shall  gleam 
With  rarer  beauty,  and  the  Sphinx,  soothfast, 
Shall  her  own  riddle  solve  for  thee  at  last. 
1895 


76 


THE  PRISM 

"  Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  eternity." 

SHELLEY,  't  is  greatly  said,  —  and  yet  I  would 
That  thou  hadst  been  a  century  later  born  : 
Then  with  far  less  of  this  majestic  scorn 

Hadst  thou  the  mystery  of  Life  withstood ; 

Some  clearer  vision  of  its  steadfast  good 
Had  come  to  thee  in  this  our  brighter  morn 
Of  knowledge,  and  some  voice  profound  to  warn 

Thy  daring  speech.    For,  lo,  if  but  we  could 

Speak  simple  truth,  the  dome  of  Life  would  be 
No  glass  discoloring  God's  eternal  light ; 
Rather  a  glorious  prism  which,  as  the  night 

Makes  heaven  stars,  his  white  infinity 

Makes  warm  and  tender,  and  we  live  impearled 
With  all  the  sweet  perfection  of  the  world. 
1895 


77 


DEDICATION    HYMN 

O  THOU  who  art  the  Builder  strong 
Of  earth  and  seas  and  heavens  high, 

Thy  presence  fills  the  boundless  world, 
Thy  power  and  grace  are  always  nigh. 

But  still,  in  many  a  secret  hour, 

And  many  a  calm  and  sheltered  place, 

We  clearer  seem  to  hear  thy  voice, 
And  nearer  seems  to  shine  thy  face. 

So  may  we  often  find  it  here : 
No  care,  or  pain,  or  grief  forgot, 

But  all  remembered  as  from  thee, 

Whose  love  were  less  if  these  were  not. 

No  pomp  of  art,  nor  music's  swell 

Be  here  our  best  of  prayer  and  praise, 

But  hearts  that  yearn  to  know  thy  will, 
And  love  that  hallows  all  our  ways. 
78 


DEDICATION  HYMN 

So  shall  it  be,  as  forth  we  fare, 

To  ways  unknown  and  tasks  untried  ; 

Thy  perfect  peace,  surpassing  thought, 
Shall  ever  in  our  hearts  abide. 

In  darkest  hours  we  shall  not  fear ; 

In  death,  as  life,  shall  all  alarms 
Grow  faint  and  cease ;  for  we  shall  lie 

Safe  in  thine  everlasting  arms. 


79 


<\-  , 

A* 


SUNT   LACRIMAE  RERUM 

YES,  there  are  tears  in  things :  the  blind  eyes 
Of  the  most  ancient  hills  weep  their  decay  ; 
The  trees  their  leaves  which  do  not  come  to  stay ; 

The  clouds  because  their  empire  of  the  skies 

Is  for  a  little  while,  then  lost ;  the  dew  that  lies 
All  night  expectant  that  it  must  away 
'Fore  the  bright  face  of  the  long-wished-for  day ; 

The  lonely  stars  their  banished  mysteries. 

But  there  is  also  laughter  :  after  days 

Of  cheerless  rain  when  the  sun  shines  once  more  ; 

When  Spring  returns ;  to  birds  their  mating  time  ; 
When  roses  lean  together,  and  the  sprays 

Of  the  tall  meadow-rue ;  most  when  the  shore 

Hears  with  pure  joy  that  immemorial  chime. 

1895 


80 


AN  ODE 

READ  AT  THE  LAYING  OF  THE  CORNER-STONE  OF  THE 
MUSEUM  OF  THE  BROOKLYN  INSTITUTE  OF  ARTS  AND 
SCIENCES,  DECEMBER  14,  1895 

WHY  break  we  here  this  precious  mould  that  knew 
Of  old  the  farmer's  honest  toil  and  sweat,  — 

The  sods  that  once,  instead  of  glistening  dew, 
With  ruddy  drops  from  manly  hearts  were  wet  ? 

Here  curled  the  smoke  of  pleasant  household  fires, 
Here  the  full  wains  went  home  with  harvest  cheer, 

And  sturdy  youth  their  genial,  jovial  sires 

Helped  heartily  through  all  the  changing  year. 

Here  the  hot  share  of  war  went  rooting  up 

The  summer  grass,  the  flowers  that  did  no  wrong ; 

And  History  brimmed  her  immemorial  cup 

Once  more  with  wine  to  quicken  deathless  song. 

So  peace  and  war  their  various  memories  blend 
To  doubly  hallow  this  enchanted  ground. 

And,  as  we  hither  on  our  errand  tend, 

We  hear  their  voices  from  the  deep  profound. 
81 


AN  ODE 

Is  it  for  peace  or  war  that  we  are  here, 

To  lay  this  stone  from  which  at  length  shall  spring 
A  temple  grand,  which  shall  for  many  a  year 

Remain  a  beautiful  and  glorious  thing  ? 

For  peace,  indeed !  for  here  shall  breathe  around 
That  quiet  air,  and  still,  which  Milton's  heart 

Craved  when  he  would  truth's  deep  abysses  sound 
Or  pleasure  find  in  his  immortal  art. 

Here  from  the  market's  fierce  and  deafening  roar 
And  from  the  daily  social  noise  and  fret, 

Beloved  city  of  the  island  shore, 

Thy  sons  and  daughters,  coming,  shall  forget 

All  foolish  pleasures  and  corroding  cares, 
What  time  the  priests  of  Science  shall  unroll 

Her  mystic  page,  while  Art  her  splendor  bares 
To  flood  with  rapture  the  attentive  soul. 

How  the  huge  earth  was  fashioned  they  shall  learn, 
And  hear  the  singing  of  the  morning  stars, 

Through  countless  ages  see  man's  promise  burn, 
Like  the  red  sun  through  morning's  dusky  bars. 
82 


AN  ODE 

Here,  like  the  kings  the  guilty  monarch  saw, 
Coming  and  going,  we  shall  see  them,  too  ; 

And  nations  rising,  falling,  by  that  law 

Which  smites  the  evil,  crowns  the  good  and  true. 

Poets  and  painters  here  with  rival  powers 

Shall  speak,  and  bid  the  happy  moment  stay ; 

And  the  deft  sculptor  from  the  fleeting  hours 
A  glory  win  that  cannot  pass  away. 

For  peace  or  war  ?   For  peace,  indeed,  and  yet 
For  war  no  less  ;  so  make  the  omen  good 

Of  those  who  once  their  manly  bosoms  set, 

Like  mountain  winds  against  the  bristling  wood,  • 

Nay,  as  the  wood  against  the  rushing  storm 
That  trails  its  vernal  beauty  in  the  dust, 

But  leaves  unspoiled  the  sinewy  limbs,  —  the  norm 
Of  freedom's  hope  and  honor's  glowing  trust. 

War  let  it  be !    The  omen  hailed  with  joy ! 

Our  foreheads  bared  to  take  the  mystic  sign 
Which  seals  us  to  the  battles  that  destroy 

All  spirits  dark,  all  influences  malign, 
83 


AN  ODE 

That  threaten  life,  that  hinder  and  delay 

Man's  fatal  hour,  when  he  shall  crouch  no  more, 

But  stand  erect,  and  cloudless  as  the  day 
That  floods  a  continent  from  shore  to  shore. 

What  do  we  build  ?   Behold,  an  armory 

Is  here  begun  whose  gleaming  walls  shall  rise 

Above  our  civic  turmoil's  whelming  sea, 
Seen  from  afar  against  the  ambient  skies, 

Within  whose  spacious  halls  shall  be  bestowed 
All  instruments  and  weapons  of  that  strife 

Of  truth  with  error  that  has  onward  flowed, 
Like  a  great  river  through  the  dateless  life 

Of  man  on  earth.   These  let  us  take,  and  smite 

That  hoary  citadel  wherein  abide 
The  hosts  of  darkness,  loving  still  the  night, 

When  morning's  happy  gates  are  open  wide. 

We  shall  have  great  companions  here,  —  the  powers 
Of  man's  unconquerable  and  deathless  mind, 

The  stars  that  fight  for  him  until  the  hours 
Of  fear  and  trembling  all  are  left  behind. 
84 


AN  ODE 

With  such  a  battle  joined,  oh,  who  would  stand 
A  useless  idler  in  some  safest  place? 

Behold,  O  God,  we  come  at  thy  command, 
And  we  shall  see  the  glory  of  thy  face ! 


THE  TWOFOLD  AWE 

"  Two  things,"  said  he  of  Konigsberg, 
Most  gravely  wise  of  modern  men, 
"  With  awe  my  spirit  fill,  whene'er 

They  break  upon  my  ken  : 
The  starry  heavens,  when  they  show 

Then*  countless  hosts  in  order  bright ; 
The  Law  within,  which  teaches  me 
The  way  of  Truth  and  Right." 

How  poor  the  man  who  cannot  say 

Amen  to  words  so  sweet  and  strong, 
Whose  heart  has  never  known  the  beat 

Of  either  mystic  song ! 
Has  never  felt  abashed  and  stilled 

By  starry  splendors,  cool  and  far ; 
Nor,  when  the  inward  silence  thrilled, 

How  weak  and  strong  we  are  ! 

But,  oh,  that  each  might  win  the  grace 
To  hold  the  twofold  awe  as  one ; 
86 


THE  TWOFOLD  AWE 

To  blend  the  inward  voice  with  that 
Which  speaks  in  star  and  sun  ; 

From  shining  orbs  that  never  swerve 
Upon  their  high  and  glorious  way, 

To  seize  the  strength  by  which  we  might 
That  law  within  obey ! 

Then  would  our  lives  as  bravely  shine 

As  ever  pomp  of  clearest  night ; 
For  suns  and  moons  and  stars  are  pale 

To  Love  and  Truth  and  Right. 
And  then  on  whom  in  darkness  sit 

Should  gladsome  light  arise  and  shine ; 
And  in  our  glory  men  should  walk, 

And  conquer  by  our  sign. 
1895 


"LIKE  A  LAMB" 

So  March  comes  in  !  And  the  whole  visible  world 
With  his  white  fleeces  is  most  wonderful. 

And  so  the  lovely  image  is  made  good 

Of  one  who  said,  "  He  giveth  snow  like  wool." 
1896 


THE  WAY  OF  LIFE 

Of  all  peculiarly  beautiful  things  in  Japan,  the  most  beautiful  are 
the  approaches  to  high  places  of  worship  or  of  rest,  —  the  Ways  that  go 
to  Nowhere  and  the  Steps  that  lead  to  Nothing.  —  LAFCADIO  HEARN. 

A  THOUGHT  is  here,  O  spirits  that  deny, 

To  cheer  us  when  your  doleful  prophecy 
Of  Nothingness  and  Nowhere  breathes  its  sigh 

Upon  our  hearts.    For  evqn  if  so  it  be, 
And  Death  ends  all,  how  beautiful  the  Way 

That  leads  us  thither,  lit  with  suns  and  stars, 
Bright  with  the  seasons'  magical  array, 

The  morning's  and  the  evening's  cloudy  bars, 
The  birds  and  poets  singing  as  we  go 

From  east  to  west  across  the  pleasant  land ; 
The  clouds,  majestic,  moving  to  and  fro, 

And  dear  companions  always  close  at  hand 
Heart-full  of  love !    So  rich,  O  God,  the  store 
Of  perfect  things,  how  dare  we  ask  for  more  ? 
1896 


89 


TOWARD   THE  UNKNOWN 

All  look  gloomy  when  we  are  bearing  south,  or  too  much  to  the 
west,  and  all  are  beaming  with  joy  when  we  are  drifting  to  the  north- 
ward, the  farther  the  better.  —  NANSEN,  Farthest  North. 

So  it  is  written  in  brave  Nansen's  story 
Of  the  good  Fram,  and  all  the  fame  and  glory 
Of  those  stout  hearts  who  further  northward  bore 
Than  any  ship  had  ever  been  before. 

For  them  the  vast  unknown  had  naught  of  fear ; 
They  yearned  for  it  as  for  a  mother  dear 
The  homesick  children  absent  from  her  side ; 
As  yearns  the  bridegroom  for  the  tarrying  bride. 

They  knew  how  many  hitherward  had  come, 
Nor  seen  again  the  pleasant  things  of  home ; 
Nor  sent  one  word  of  aught  that  they  had  found 
In  any  dim,  enchanted  sea  or  ground. 

Yet  still  from  out  the  unknown  world  there  came 
Voices  that  seemed  to  call  them  each  by  name ; 
Voices  of  bergs  that  grind  and  seas  that  roll, 
Tempting  and  spurning  man's  imperial  soul. 
90 


TOWARD  THE  UNKNOWN 

Would  that  it  might  be  so  with  us  who  keep 
Our  fateful  course  o'er  life's  unmeasured  deep  ; 
That  we,  as  cheerly,  might  that  mystery  hail, 
Which  is  the  port  of  every  captain's  sail. 

What  though  no  soul  has  ever  yet  returned 
With  news  of  those  for  whom  our  hearts  have  yearned 
These  many  years !    Who  would  not  wish  to  go 
Where  they  have  gone,  what  they  have  learned  to  know  ? 

No  fear !   That  great  unknown  toward  which  we  move 
Is  the  wide  sea  of  God's  eternal  love. 
No  ice-bound  beauteous  desolation  there ; 
But  life,  more  life  —  who  would  not  onward  fare  ? 
1896 


A  PALINODE 

GREAT  Death,  my  thought  has  often  done  thee  wrong, 
Remembering  with  what  stern  and  ruthless  hand 
Thou  hast  struck  down  some  of  that  sacred  band 
Whom  I  had  loved  full  tenderly  and  long,  — 
Some,  too,  whose  lives  were  as  a  perfect  song 
Of  peace  and  comfort  on  this  strip  of  sand 
'Twixt  the  two  seas,  —  as  if  my  heart  to  brand 
With  all  thy  terrors.    But  albeit  strong 
In  agonies,  yet  thou  canst  be,  I  know, 
As  gentle  in  thy  coming  as  the  snow 
Which  falleth  without  wind ;  and  thou  wast  so 
With  my  lost  saint ;  wherefore  henceforth  thy  face 
Shall  wear  for  me  a  new  and  tender  grace, 
In  grateful  memory  of  that  kind  embrace. 
1896 


92 


MEMORIAL  VERSES 

GEN.    JOHN    B.    WOODWARD 
Given  under  the  auspices  of  the  Brooklyn  Institute 

How  short  the  time  since  winter's  ice  and  snow 
Fettered  the  streams  and  made  the  pastures  white ! 

But  sudden  all  is  changed,  the  spring,  so  slow 
To  come,  is  here,  a  wonder  and  delight. 

Naught  can  withstand  her  beauty,  for  her  tide 

Swells  like  a  sea,  until  it  takes  in  fee 
Our  city  streets,  and  their  poor  sods  abide 

Content  that  she  has  touched  them  graciously. 

And  yet,  somehow,  it  does  not  seem  the  same 
As  other  springtimes  we  have  known  ere  this  ; 

Duller  the  light  of  its  ethereal  flame, 

Less  warm  its  smile,  less  rapturous  its  kiss. 

Something  is  missing  from  the  joyful  scene, 

And  the  soft  air  for  something  seems  to  grieve  ; 

Some  blessed  thing  is  not  as  it  has  been 
Nor  any  skill  have  we  that  can  retrieve 
93 


MEMORIAL  VERSES 

Our  bitter  loss  ;  for  one  has  gone  away 
Not  to  return,  who  was  the  light  and  joy 

Of  many  hearts,  their  comfort  and  their  stay. 
Safe  from  all  earthly  trouble  and  annoy 

Is  he,  henceforth,  and  it  is  well  with  him. 

We  may  not  doubt  the  goodness  infinite 
Which  so  decrees,  yet  must  our  hearts  o'erbrim 

With  some  fond  tears,  not  idle  nor  unfit. 

For  he  was  made  in  such  an  ample  mould, 
On  such  a  full  and  large  and  liberal  plan, 

That  Shakespeare's  self,  rejoicing  to  behold 
His  goodly  frame,  had  said,  This  is  a  man ! 

And  all  men  loved  his  sturdy  soldier  strength, 
His  honest,  bluff,  and  hearty  soldier  ways, 

His  Saxon  speech,  which  was  not  prone  to  length, 
As  if  on  earth  we  had  a  million  days. 

Simple  and  plain  he  was  in  everything, 
As  though,  a  stranger  to  our  languid  race, 

He  came  to  make  our  ways  with  laughter  ring 

And  cheer  us  with  the  sunlight  in  his  face. 

94 


MEMORIAL  VERSES 

And  yet,  though  strong,  he  was  most  gentle,  too ; 

His  was  the  kindly  heart,  the  liberal  hand  ; 
Let  there  be  need  of  service,  tender,  true, 

None  readier  than  he  in  all  the  land. 

Had  duty  called,  he  would  have  gone  with  joy 
To  meet  his  death  where  battle  was  aligned, 

And  yet  the  things  that  make  for  peace  employ 
More  welcome  gave  his  quiet,  steadfast  mind. 

He  loved  the  painter's  art,  the  statue's  grace, 
All  lovely  things  that  make  our  mortal  life 

More  worthy  of  the  genial  hopes  we  trace 
In  hearts  that  weary  of  its  endless  strife. 

He  loved  our  civic  honor  as  his  own  ; 

He  would  have  had  it  like  a  beacon  flare 
On  some  great  headland,  and  its  splendor  thrown 

Wide  o'er  that  sea  where  honest  men  despair, 

And  cry,  How  ever  bring  the  Ship  of  State, 
Beset  by  pirates,  with  a  pirate  crew, 

Safe  into  port  ?   And  some  unto  her  fate 

Would  leave  her,  mourning,  Nothing  can  we  do. 
95 


MEMORIAL  VERSES 

But  our  good  John,  so  stout  and  big  of  heart, 
Let  who  would  doubt  the  end,  so  would  not  he ; 

And  something  of  his  courage  could  impart 
To  those  whose  hearts  were  failing  utterly. 

Thank  God  that  we  have  known  this  manly  man ; 

That  we  could  call  him  ours ;  that  he  has  stood 
High-towering,  firm  among  us  as  the  oak 

That  overtops  his  brothers  of  the  wood  ! 

In  bronze  or  marble  shape  him  as  we  may, 
That  men  unborn  may  on  his  visage  gaze, 

He  will  not  chide  the  wreath  we  bring  to-day, 

For  love  is  better  than  immortal  bays. 
1896 


96 


THE  MAKING  OF  MEN 

As  the  insect  from  the  rock 

Takes  the  color  of  its  wing ; 
As  the  boulder  from  the  shock 

Of  the  ocean's  rhythmic  swing 
Makes  itself  a  perfect  form, 

Learns  a  calmer  front  to  raise ; 
As  the  shell,  enameled  warm 

With  the  prism's  mystic  rays, 
Praises  wind  and  wave  that  make 

All  its  chambers  fair  and  strong ; 
As  the -mighty  poets  take 

Grief  and  pain  to  build  their  song ; 
Even  so  for  every  soul, 

Whatsoe'er  its  lot  may  be  — 
Building,  as  the  heavens  roll, 

Something  large  and  strong  and  free 
Things  that  hurt  and  things  that  mar 

Shape  the  man  for  perfect  praise ; 
Shock  and  strain  and  ruin  are 

Friendlier  than  the  smiling  days. 
1896 

97 


IN   EXTREMITY 

COME,  science,  do  thy  worst  or  even  best ; 

Come,  patient  critic,  with  thy  searching  doubt 
From  scripture  wonder  pluck  the  warrant  out ; 

And  every  hope  that  harbors  in  the  breast 

Be  of  all  right  and  title  dispossessed, 
'Till,  where  heaven  was,  the  dark  shall  rim  about 
A  greater  darkness,  and  the  fool  shall  flout 

All  thought  or  dream  of  the  immortal  rest. 

But  thou,  my  Shakespeare,  hast  not  tasted  death : 
God  were  not  good  if  thou  hadst  failed  to  know 
What  joy  and  blessing  from  thy  spirit  flow 
For  all  men  drawing  glad  or  painful  breath. 
And  where  thou  art  all  human  life  must  be, 
Heart  of  thy  heart,  through  all  eternity. 
1896 


98 


CONCIO   AD   CLERUM 

READ    AT    THE    MINISTERS'    LUNCH   IN    NEW   YORK   CITY 

MANY  a  poet  has  sung  ere  now 

Of  the  song  he  hoped  to  sing, 
But  never  had  quite  found  the  music  right 

That  was  there  in  the  quivering  string. 
Forever  lovely  and  strong  and  sweet, 

It  was  there  just  back  of  his  tongue ; 
But  never  the  word,  like  a  joyous  bird, 

Its  heart  on  the  breeze  had  flung. 

Now  we  that  preach  as  the  others  sing, 

We  know  how  it  is  ourselves : 
We  have  sermons  galore,  a  fearful  store, 

Packed  up  on  the  handy  shelves ; 
But  where  is  the  sermon  we  fain  would  preach, 

Have  followed  for  many  a  year, 
And  yet,  somehow,  to  our  cleaving  prow 

It  is  never  a  whit  more  near  ? 
99 


CONCIO   AD   CLERUM 

There  are  days  when  we  think  it  will  surely  come, 

There  are  nights  when  the  dark  is  bright 
With  the  trail  of  its  hem,  like  a  priceless  gem, 

And  we  wake  with  a  happy  fright  — 
To  find  it  has  vanished,  already  far 

On  the  track  it  has  held  so  long, 
Away  and  away  where  it  will  not  stay 

Any  more  than  the  flying  song. 

Now  you  that  love  the  preacher's  work 

As  much  as  the  poet  his, 
Come,  tell  me  true  what  you  would  do 

For  to  touch  this  height  of  bliss  ? 
I  know :  you  would  wrestle  and  sweat  and  pray, 

Like  Jacob,  the  livelong  night, 
If  at  break  of  day  it  would  come  to  stay,  — 

The  sermon  you  fain  would  write. 

And  when  it  came,  O  God,  to  think 

What  a  sermon  it  would  be ! 
It  would  be  as  high  as  the  starry  sky 

And  as  deep  as  the  deep,  deep  sea ; 
It  would  stir  the  heart  of  the  youth  and  maid 

With  a  strange  and  a  sweet  unrest, 
100' 


CONCIO   AD   CLERUM 

And  their  souls  would  yearn  for  a  glad  return 
To  the  things  they  know  are  best. 

And  the  sinner  there  in  his  cosy  pew, 

As  snug  as  a  man  could  be, 
Should  sudden  feel,  like  a  stroke  of  steel, 

The  truth  that  would  make  him  free,  — 
If  he  would  but  heed ;  and  the  aching  heart, 

So  weary  under  its  load, 
Would  laugh  and  sing  like  a  crazy  thing, 

For  joy  of  the  painful  road. 

And  the  Sunday  paper  should  be  accurst, 

And  the  women  forget  their  whist, 
And  the  children's  play  for  that  one  day 

Be  never  a  moment  missed. 
It  would  be  for  all  such  a  goodly  time 

As  the  stars  in  their  courses  know 
When  they  all  are* out  with  a  joyous  shout, 

And  the  earth  lies  still  below. 

But  it  will  not  come,  it  will  not  come, 

The  sermon  we  fain  would  write. 
It  is  evermore  just  on  before, 
101 


CONCIO   AD   CLERUM 

If  it  is  n't  way  out  of  sight ; 
But  better  so  than  to  smiling  go 

In  the  way  by  the  foolish  trod ; 
Let  us  do  our  best  with  a  manly  zest, 

And  leave  the  rest  to  God. 
1896 


102 


THE  NEW  SCIENCE 

Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ?  —  JOB 
xxxviii,  4. 

THAT  was  in  the  later  dawn : 

Then  I  was  where  now  I  am,  — 
In  thy  bosom  ;  there  before 

Time's  first  planet  proudly  swam 
Into  space,  and  back  of  then, 

In  the  darkness  thick  and  long, 
Closer  was  I  knit  with  thee 

Than  the  music  with  the  song. 

Strange  my  fortunes  since  have  been,  — 

Bathed  in  fire,  in  floods  congealed, 
In  the  nebulous  mass  aglow, 

In  the  ardent  planet  wheeled ; 
From  the  shapeless,  slow  but  sure, 

Taking  shapes  with  beauty  rife ; 
From  the  senseless  clod  at  length 

Plucking  out  the  heart  of  life. 

Upward,  onward,  striving  still 
Through  the  elemental  forms ; 
103 


THE  NEW   SCIENCE 

Cradled  in  the  monster  trees, 

Rocked  by  earthquakes,  nursed  by  storms ; 
Out  of  weakness  growing  strong, 

Working  still  the  heavenly  plan, 
Learning  what  the  beast  must  do, 

Ere  he  find  himself  a  man. 

From  the  plant  that  useless  grows, 

Making  corn  for  daily  bread ; 
From  the  fear  of  stock  and  stone, 

Homeward  to  the  Father  led ; 
Those  with  whom  in  ages  gone 

Red  of  hand  I  hotly  strove, 
Taking  to  a  brother's  arms 

With  the  awful  might  of  love. 

Never  severed  from  thy  heart, 

Never  parted  from  thy  side, 
Still  as  in  the  later  dawn 

In  thy  bosom  I  abide ; 
Still  as  in  the  early  dark, 

Ere  the  worlds  began  to  be, 
Thou,  my  God,  and  I  are  one,  — 

Thou  in  me  and  I  in  thee. 
1897 

104 


TO  E.  E.  HALE 

ON    HIS    7$TH  BIRTHDAY   ANNIVERSARY 

LABOR  and  sorrow,  —  such  the  Psalmist  found 

Is  theirs  who  pass  beyond  the  allotted  bound. 
And  thou,  in  truth,  hast  made  the  promise  good, 

Encountering  sorrow  in  a  mighty  flood, 
But  working  on,  so  getting  heart  to  bear 

The  sorrow  bravely,  and  right  onward  fare. 
Since  sorrow  must  be,  God  be  thanked,  old  friend, 

For  work,  hard  work,  until  the  happy  end ! 
1897 


105 


"THE  DEEP  THAT   LIETH   UNDER" 

OFT  have  we  heard  that  in  those  regions  where 
The  coast-wise  mountains  plunge  so  far  below 
The  sea  as,  from  its  level,  up  they  go 

Towards  heaven's  height,  the  placid  waters  there 

Are  so  translucent  that,  for  those  who  fare 
Across  them,  all  the  things  that  strow 
The  deep  sea's  floor,  appalling,  gloom  and  glow, 

Frighting  the  eyes  that  on  that  vision  stare. 

Alas,  we  need  not  go  abroad  to  see 

Such  awful  things  !    Each  heart  its  soundless  deep 
Knoweth  full  well,  and  moments  when  are  shown 

In  startling  light  its  utmost  mystery ; 

Yea,  all  the  secrets  which  its  caverns  keep, 

And  wrecks  which  Love  moans  with  perpetual  moan. 


106 


GIVEN   IN   MARRIAGE 

M.    H.    C. 

YES,  she  is  gone !   The  blessed  words  are  said 

That  make  her  of  another's  life  a  part, 

And  the  deep  vows  are  spoken,  heart  to  heart 
Responding,  and  my  little  girl  is  wed 
To  her  true  mate,  and,  homeward,  music-led, 

Her  feet  have  come ;  and  we  have  seen  her  start 

Forth  and  away,  so  glad,  while  we  the  smart 
Of  tears  have  known  in  lonely  silence  shed. 
The  frolic  laughter  ceases  and  the  fun 

Of  the  bright  company  of  happy  friends. 

Thinking  kind  thoughts  of  her,  each  homeward  wends 
His  way,  and  all  the  pretty  pageantry  is  done. 

God  has  her  in  his  keeping :  Yes,  but  I 

Can  only  think  of  her  first  infant  cry. 
October  26,  1898 


107 


FULL  CYCLE 

SPAIN  drew  us  proudly  from  the  womb  of  night, 
A  lusty  man-child  of  the  Western  wave,  — 

Who  now,  full-grown,  smites  the  old  mid-wife  down, 
And  thrusts  her  deep  in  a  dishonored  grave. 


108 


PREPARED 

OFT  have  I  wondered  at  the  fearless  heart 
With  which  strong  men  and  tender  women  go 
To  meet  great  Death  ;  but  now  I  seem  to  know 
The  secret  of  their  courage.    *T  is  a  part 
Of  their  whole  life,  the  end  of  all  thou  art, 
O  Nature,  to  their  souls.    The  steady  flow 
Of  time  is  ceaseless ;  thick  thy  hand  doth  sow 
The  void  with  stars,  while  from  earth's  bosom  start 
The  lovely  flowers,  and  there  are  trees  and  streams 
And  women's  faces  and  love's  mystery. 
And  all  these  things  are  influences  that  give 
The  needed  lesson.    They  are  all  foregleams 
Of  the  one  strangeness  and  the  last.    How  be 
Of  Death  afraid  when  we  have  dared  to  live  ? 


109 


ANTI-CLIMAX 

IT  is  magnificent,  a  city's  pride, 

This  giant  stairway  built  with  lavish  art 
Of  gleaming  marble  quarried  from  the  heart 

Of  earth's  best  store  ;  and  upon  either  side 

Are  lions  couchant,  —  glorious  beasts  that  bide, 
Or  seem  to  bide,  their  time.    Stand  here  apart, 
And  question  reverently  if  there  could  start 

From  earth  to  heaven  a  way  more  beautiful. 

Leading  to  what  ?   Behold  the  builder's  sin  ! 

A  painted  wall  with  little  holes  therein 

A  new  grave's  width  and  length  ;  and  this  the  end 
To  which  the  beauty  and  the  splendor  tend ! 

And  if  the  stairway  we  call  life  were  such 

Nor  man  nor  God  could  ever  deem  it  much. 


no 


SURSUM  CORDA! 

LIFT  up  your  hearts,  young  men  and  maidens  sweet ! 

Your  hearts  lift  up,  you  in  your  perfect  prime, 
And  you  whose  eyes  with  gathering  dimness  greet 

Dear,  faithful  comrades  of  the  elder  time  ! 
Lift  up  your  hearts  in  hope  and  happy  cheer 
For  that  great  future  which  is  drawing  near ! 

It  cannot  be,  it  must  not,  shall  not  be 

That  this  dear  land,  won  at  such  awful  cost 

For  Freedom's  seat,  men  yet  unborn  shall  see 
To  all  great  things  ingloriously  lost. 

Our  God  shall  keep  the  promise  he  has  made 

To  those  great  hearts  which  on  his  law  were  stayed. 

Not  without  us,  O  God,  that  promise  be 

Kept  for  our  children,  and  their  children's  peace ! 
Take  us,  and  mould  us  to  thy  high  decree  ! 

Through  us  thine  honor  and  thy  love  increase ! 
Not  without  us  thy  triumph  shall  be  won  : 
Thy  will,  O  God,  thy  will  and  ours,  be  done  1 
1898 

in 


THE  DANCING  LIGHTS 

FROM  out  the  country  spaces  cool  and  clear 
We  flash  into  the  maze  of  city  streets. 

What  pageant  this  that  straightway  doth  appear  ? 
What  land  of  faery  that  our  vision  greets  ? 

A  feast  of  lights !  And  as  we  roll  along, 
As  if  each  one  some  lovely  dancer  held, 

They  interweave  as  to  some  choric  song 
Which  from  the  dark  mysteriously  welled  ; 

To  whose  soft  tune  the  dancers  round  and  round 
Move  hi  a  rapture  tremulous  and  intense, 

With  languorous  paces  that  make  faintest  sound 
And  ever  duller  and  more  drowsy  sense. 

The  dancing  lights !   Too  lingeringly  I  gazed 
On  their  warm  motions,  till  —  as  one  who  reels 

When  by  some  beauteous,  blinding  vision  dazed, 
And  then,  back  to  himself  returning,  feels 

112 


THE  DANCING  LIGHTS 

Right  glad  of  heart  —  so,  then,  it  was  with  me 
As,  looking  up,  I  saw  the  heaven's  calm 

Shedding  the  light  of  stars  so  silently 

That  on  my  heart  that  stillness  fell  like  balm. 

Far  off  and  cool,  each  in  his  perfect  sphere 
Held,  as  if  motionless,  his  awful  way  ; 

Star  unto  star  discoursing  crystal  clear, 
As  when  they  sang  creation's  primal  lay. 

Ah  me  !    I  would  that  when  the  dancing  lights 
Of  wayward  passion  seek  my  soul  to  sway 

With  their  wild  motion,  from  those  meaner  sights 
I  might  be  strong  to  turn  my  eyes  away 

To  where  th'  eternal  stars  so  purely  shine  — 
Truth,  Beauty,  Good  —  and  by  that  vision  blest, 

Lifting  my  heart  to  make  its  clearness  mine, 

Taste  then,  earth-bound,  the  everlasting  rest. 
1899 


f 


A  GOOD   PHYSICIAN 

Calvin  Briggs,  who  practiced  medicine  in  Marblehead,  Mass.,  for  many 
years ;  during,  I  think,  his  whole  professional  life.  He  was  the  son  of 
Rev.  James  Briggs,  of  Cummington,  Mass.,  who  was  next  neighbor  to 
the  poet  Bryant's  father,  and  who  was  the  "  aged  man  upon  his  bier " 
of  Bryant's  beautiful  poem,  "  The  Old  Man's  Funeral."  His  severe  and 
yet  effective  skill  cured  me  of  a  congenital  blindness  of  such  a  nature 
that  I  am  assured  by  a  distinguished  ophthalmologist  of  having  had 
a  very  narrow  escape. 

His  name  was  Calvin,  and  like  his  namesake, 
The  famous  John,  who  in  Geneva  taught, 
He  dealt  in  brimstone  freely,  and  he  wrought 

With  many  drugs  that  were  not  nice  to  take. 

A  stern  old  man,  yet  doth  his  name  awake 

Thoughts  in  my  breast  that  are  forever  fraught 
With  gratefulness.    He  such  a  blessing  brought 

Upon  my  life  that  simply  for  his  sake 

All  good  physicians  are  more  dear  to  me  : 
He  gave  me  eyes  when  but  for  him  I  might 
Have  lived  half  dead  in  a  perpetual  night ; 

Have  read  no  book,  have  seen  no  flower  or  tree, 
And  missed,  O  God !  forever  that  one  face 
Which  is  my  best  assurance  of  thy  grace. 
1899 

114 


THE  BLACK  MAN'S   BURDEN 

TAKE  up  the  black  man's  burden ! 

Not  his  across  the  seas, 
But  his  who  grows  your  cotton, 

And  sets  your  heart  at  ease, 
When  to  the  sodden  rice  fields 

Your  children  dare  not  go, 
Nor  brave  the  heat  that  singes  like 

The  foundry's  fiery  glow. 

Take  up  the  black  man's  burden ! 

He  helped  to  share  your  own 
On  many  a  scene  by  battle-clouds 

Portentously  o'erblown ; 
On  Wagner's  awful  parapet, 

As  late  where  Shatter's  plan 
Was  for  the  boys  to  take  the  lead, 

He  showed  himself  a  man. 

Take  up  the  black  man's  burden ! 

'T  is  heavy  with  the  weight 
Of  old  ancestral  taint,  the  curse 

Of  new-engendered  hate ; 


THE  BLACK  MAN'S  BURDEN 

The  scorn  of  those  who  throw  to  him 
Their  table's  meanest  crust  — 

Children  of  those  who  made  him  serve 
Their  idleness  and  lust. 

Take  up  the  black  man's  burden  ! 

When  you  were  out  for  votes, 
His  geese  —  they  all  were  swans  to  you, 

And  sheep  were  all  his  goats. 
T  was  "  Pompey  this  "  and  "  Pompey  that,' 

And  "  Pompey,  bless  your  heart !  " 
But  it 's  "  Devil  take  you,  Pompey  !  "  now 

You  play  the  lion's  part. 

Take  up  the  black  man's  burden ! 

If  you  have  got  a  brief 
For  all  the  suffering  of  the  earth, 

To  give  them  swift  relief ; 
Don't  let  the  millions  here  at  home, 

Whose  bonds  you  struck  away, 
Learn  from  your  heedlessness  to  cry, 

"  Give  back  the  evil  day  I " 

Take  up  the  black  man's  burden  ! 
O  black  men,  unto  you 
116 


THE  BLACK  MAN'S   BURDEN 

The  summons  is,  when  those  forget 
Who  should  be  kind  and  true ! 

Put  not  your  trust  in  such  as  boast 
Straight  hair  and  paler  skin ; 

Their  duty  calls  them  otherwhere. 
Fight  your  own  fight  and  —  win. 

Take  up  the  black  man's  burden ! 

Poor  patient  folk  and  tame  — 
The  heritage  of  cursing, 

Of  foolishness  and  blame. 
Your  task  the  task  of  earning, 

By  many  an  evil  pressed, 
Warm,  touched  with  human  pity, 

The  friendship  of  the  best. 

February  21,  1899 


II/ 


THE  NEW   HUMANITY 

(Suggested  by  the  Congressional  proposal  to  deport  the  Chinese  from 
Hawaii  as  "  unlawfully  in  the  United  States.") 

"  An'  whose  free  latch-string  never  was  drawed  in 
Against  the  poorest  child  of  Adam's  kin." 

So  Lowell  sang,  —  but  now  it  is  not  true  : 

Long  since  we  drew  the  shortened  latch-string  in 

From  men  of  Asia  guilty  of  no  sin 
But  willingness  for  little  much  to  do. 
Yet  many  found  asylum  'mid  the  blue 

Of  Western  seas  till  we,  with  hellish  din, 

Making  for  Asia,  their  last  refuge  win 
For  our  dear  country.    Now,  alas !  they  rue 
The  stars  and  stripes  above  it.   Stripes  alone, 

Poor  yellow-skins,  for  you,  who,  being  annexed 

To  Freedom's  heritage,  are  sore  perplexed 
To  find  you  must  get  out  again  —  move  on. 

"  But  your  free  lat«h-string !  "  —  Never  name  it  more ; 

Stolen  your  hut,  we  kick  you  from  the  door. 
1899 


118 


THE  KISS   OF   GOD 

WHEN  the  great  leader's  task  was  done, 
He  stood  on  Pisgah's  height, 

And  saw,  far  off,  the  westering  sun 
Drop  down  into  the  night ; 

Saw,  too,  the  land  in  which,  alas  ! 

He  might  not  hope  to  dwell 
Spread  fairly  out ;  and  then  —  for  so 

Talmudic  legends  tell  — 

Jehovah  touched  him,  and  he  slept ; 

And  smooth  the  mountain  sod 
Was  leveled  o'er  him,  and  't  was  writ, 

"  Died  by  the  kiss  of  God." 

The  kiss  of  God  !   We  talk  of  death 

In  many  learned  ways,  — 
We  know  so  much ;  which  of  them  all 

So  simple  in  its  praise 
119 


THE   KISS   OF  GOD 

As  this  which  from  the  oldest  days 
Has  treasured  been  apart, 

To  comfort  in  this  heel  of  time 
The  mourner's  aching  heart  ? 

We  walk  our  bright  or  desert  road, 
And,  when  we  reach  the  end, 

Bends  over  us  with  gentle  face 
The  Universal  Friend. 

Upon  our  lips  his  own  are  laid ; 

We  do  not  strive  nor  cry. 
The  kiss  of  God !   Upon  that  kiss 

It  is  not  hard  to  die. 
1899 


1 20 


THE  JOLLY  CARPENTERS 

MY  Uncle  Tom  and  Uncle  Joe 

Were  carpenters,  and  I 
Was  always  happy  in  their  shop, 

A-seein'  of  'em  ply 

Their  honest  craft ;  and  then  I  liked 

The  very  smell  of  wood, 
When  it  was  bein'  saw'd  and  plan'd, 

And  still  it  does  me  good. 

And,  as  they  work'd  and  work'd,  there  used 

From  cither's  bench  to  fall 
Shavings  so  pretty  that  I  thought 

They  'd  want  to  keep  them  all. 

But  no !    They  did  n't  care  for  them  ; 

And,  when  I  stammered,  "  Can't 
I  have  just  two  or  three  of  them  ? " 

They  said,  "Take  all  you  want." 

121 


THE  JOLLY   CARPENTERS 

My  Uncle  Tom  and  Uncle  Joe 
Made  various  kinds  of  things, 

Houses  and  cradles ;  but  the  best 
Were  just  these  lovely  rings 

Of  spruce  and  hemlock,  oft'ner  pine, 
Which  now  and  then  the  girls 

Would  twist  into  their  golden  hair 
And  play  that  they  were  curls. 

It  seems  to  me  that  somehow  so 

It  is  with  all  of  us : 
We  work  and  work,  and  there  are  things, 

'Bout  which  we  make  no  fuss, 

Which,  like  the  shavings  crisp  and  clean, 

That  so  unheeded  fall, 
Are  quite  the  nicest  and  the  best 

And  sweetest  things  of  all. 

But  if  we  did  n't  do  our  work 
In  some  right  manful  way, 
Where  'd  be  the  accidental  stuff 

For  other  people's  play  ? 
1899 

122 


AN   AUTUMN   SONG 

COMES  the  pleasant  autumn  time, 
And  the  leaves  are  getting  brown ; 

Loosened  from  their  summer  hold, 
They  are  softly  wavering  down. 

What  a  carpet  warm  and  bright 
Make  they  in  the  sheltered  ways ! 

What  a  splendor  on  the  hills, 
Filling  many  hearts  with  praise ! 

Countless  as  the  upper  stars, 

Asters  glorify  the  sod, 
And  the  gentian,  crisp  and  cool, 

Lifts  its  slender  cup  to  God. 

Homeward  from  his  ripened  field 
Goes  the  farmer's  loaded  wain, 

Ruddy  with  the  orchard's  yield, 
Yellow  with  the  golden  grain. 
123 


AN   AUTUMN  SONG 

Oh,  the  bounty  flowing  free ! 

Oh,  the  beauty  sweet  and  rare ! 
Let  the  nations  curse  and  kill : 

Nature,  thou  art  good  and  fair. 
1899 


124 


TO   MRS.  JULIA  WARD   HOWE 

AT  THE  DINNER  OF  THE  UNITARIAN  CLUB,  NEW  YORK, 
APRIL  18,  1900 

You  sang  for  us  a  glorious  marching  song 
When  the  great  Union  tottered  and  it  seemed 
That  all  we  best  had  loved  or  hoped  or  dreamed 

Was  fatal  loss.    And,  lo,  how  swift  along 

The  serried  ranks  grew  manifold  and  strong 
The  echoes  till,  at  last,  there  faintly  gleamed 
A  ray  of  hope,  and  ever  higher  streamed 

The  starry  flag,  while  paled  the  ancient  wrong ! 

Much  have  you  done  since  then  to  win  our  love, 
Pleading  the  cause  of  full-orbed  womanhood, 
Servant  of  all  things  fair  and  kind  and  good. 

Now  ere  you  leave  us,  may  that  sacred  dove, 

Whose  name  is  peace,  come  back  to  cheer  your  heart, 
And  nevermore  from  you,  or  us,  depart. 


125 


HYMN 

WRITTEN   FOR   THE   SEVENTY-FIFTH   ANNIVERSARY   OF 
THE   AMERICAN    UNITARIAN    ASSOCIATION 

A  GOODLY  tree  our  fathers  planted  here, 

Their  faithful  hearts  commingling  hopes  and  fears. 

How  brave  to  us  doth  now  its  strength  appear, 
Ringed  with  the  growth  of  five-and-seventy  years ! 

Its  tonic  leaves  have  for  our  healing  been, 
We  have  been  grateful  for  its  pleasant  shade ; 

And  cheerful  songs  from  out  its  glimmering  sheen 
Have  for  our  hearts  a  pleasant  music  made. 

Many  the  days  of  sunshine  it  has  known, 
Many  the  storms  which  have  its  vigor  tried. 

Through  storm  and  sunshine  it  has  sturdier  grown, 
And  flung  its  branches  wider  and  more  wide. 

Sweet  has  its  fruitage  been  for  fainting  men 
Whose  souls  were  hungry  for  the  living  bread, 

Eating  whereof  and  taking  heart  again, 

Upon  God's  errands  swift  their  feet  have  sped. 
126 


HYMN 

Long  may  its  strength  endure,  its  span  increase, 
Its  blossom  laugh,  its  fruit  be  large  and  fair ; 

Deep  in  its  heart  be  heard  the  song  of  peace, 
And  heaven  bathe  it  with  its  purest  air ! 

May  25,  1900. 


127 


PHILLIPS   BROOKS 

AFTER    READING    HIS    LIFE    BY   A.   V.    G.  ALLEN 

HERE  was  a  man  cast  in  such  generous  mould 

Of  body,  brain,  and  conscience,  heart  and  soul, 
That  if  till  now  we  never  had  been  told 

Of  an  eternal  life  and  perfect  goal 
Beyond  the  verge  of  this  our  mortal  space, 

Straightway  of  such  we  should  conceive,  and  dare 
Believe  it  builded  in  God's  boundless  grace 

After  this  man's  great  fashion,  high  and  fair. 

We  could  not  make  him  dead ;  and  if  for  him 
That  fuller  life  were  stablished  and  secure, 

Then  for  all  souls,  however  fallen,  and  dim 
With  soil  and  stain,  it  could  not  be  less  sure ; 

For  he  no  joy  in  heaven's  height  could  find 

Save  as  he  shared  it  with  all  humankind. 
1901. 


128 


DIVINE  SERVICE 

"  I  was  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye." 

Old  Translation :  Rev.  i,  10. 

SERVICE  divine  !    Such  didst  thou  render  me, 
Thou  blessed  God,  so  bountiful  and  free, 
That  of  my  hap  I  in  good  sooth  could  say, 
"  I  was  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye." 

Gently  the  church-bell  smote  the  morning  air, 
Sweetly  inviting  me  to  praise  and  prayer. 
I  heeded  not ;  in  quite  another  way 
I  was  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye. 

Quiet,  demure,  my  neighbors  went  along. 
"  Too  few,"  I  mourned,  "  the  heavenly-minded  throng !  " 
Yet,  loving  theirs,  I  went  another  way, 
To  be  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye. 

Blue,  deepest  blue,  the  sky's  immensity, 
Where  white  cloud-galleons  floated  proud  and  free. 
Great  wealth,  I  trow,  in  their  deep  bosoms  lay 
For  me  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye. 
129 


DIVINE   SERVICE 

Sometimes  there  came  a  happy  bird,  whose  note 
Tasked  the  full  measure  of  his  tiny  throat, 
As  if  he  did  his  very  best  to  say, 
1  We  're  both  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye." 

The  grass-heads  nodded  gently  to  and  fro 

In  the  soft  wind  that  did  a-wooing  go 

With  the  tall  trees ;  I  smelt  the  new-mown  hay ; 

I  was  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye. 

God  served  me,  too,  with  many  lovely  flowers, 
All  fresher  from  the  early  morning  showers ; 
So  pure,  so  sweet,  so  bright  and  fine  and  gay, 
As  if  all  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye. 

Queer  little  noises  stiller  made  the  air ; 
Small-creature  life  seemed  stirring  everywhere ; 
And  every  speck  seemed  to  have  its  own  way 
To  be  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye. 

Sweetest  of  all,  my  daughter's  little  child, 
New-born  each  day  from  heavens  undefiled, 
Played  round  about.   What  could  I  do  but  pray 
For  a  Spryte  like  hers  on  a  Sondaye  ? 
130 


DIVINE   SERVICE 

Homeward  the  church-folk  came,  subdued  and  slow, 
And  seemed  to  chide  me.   But  they  did  not  know 
What  service  mine ;  how  truly  I  could  say, 
;I  was  in  the  Spryte  on  a  Sondaye." 
CHESTERFIELD,  MASS.,  1901 


131 


THE  CHILDREN'S   MISSION 

WHY  are  the  little  children  sent  ? 

Who  better  answer  can  impart 
Than  his  who  took  them  in  his  arms, 

And  held  them  to  his  heart  ? 

He  said  it  was  that  we  might  see 
God's  kingdom  in  their  faces  shine, 

And  in  their  humbleness  discern 
How  men  may  be  divine. 

Help  us,  O  God,  our  Father  kind, 
To  heed  the  lesson  sweet  and  mild : 

The  image  of  thy  heaven  to  see 
In  every  little  child. 

And  where  that  heaven  is  dimmed  with  tears, 

Or  soiled  with  earthly  dust  and  stain, 
Help  us  to  dry  the  tears  and  make 

All  pure  and  bright  again. 
1901 

132 


A  DRIFT-WOOD   PAPER-CUTTER 

N.    W.    H. 

How  strange  that  that  which  clove  the  sea 
And  with  its  vast  concussion  shook, 

Should  fare  this  Christmas  time  to  me, 
To  cut  the  pages  of  a  book. 

Part  of  some  good  ship's  stern  or  keel 
Or  deck,  or  knees,  or  sheathing  strong, 

It  felt  the  wild  waves  monstrous  leap, 
It  heard  the  thunder  of  their  song. 

How  dull  and  tame  henceforth  its  fate ! 

Upon  a  student's  desk  to  lie, 
Where,  for  the  ships  of  old,  sedate 

And  laboring  thoughts  go  by. 

But  hold !  a  wiser  whim  occurs  : 
My  books  are  deeper  than  the  sea ; 

In  them  a  wilder  motion  stirs 
Than  in  that  blue  immensity. 

133 


A  DRIFT-WOOD  PAPER-CUTTER 

Then  why  should  this  your  gift  deplore 
The  lot  your  love  to  it  assigns ; 

As  if  its  ventures  all  were  o'er, 
In  stagnant  waters  cast  its  lines  ? 

Ventures  more  bold  than  e'er  till  now 
Have  made  its  inmost  fibre  thrill, 

Await  the  cleaving  of  its  prow, 
As  it  shall  go  where'er  I  will. 

A  vaster  sea  it  shall  career 

Than  Colon's  dauntless  spirit  trod, 

And  haply  it  may  bring  me  cheer 

From  strange  new  continents  of  God. 
1901 


134 


AN  AUTUMN   FIELD 

How  rich  and  full  in  June's  all-perfectness 
Was  the  lush  grass  which  in  this  ample  field 
Grew  riotously  glad !    How  prodigal  the  yield 

Of  every  flower  whose  absence  had  made  less 

The  bounteous  whole !   Now,  where  that  sweet  excess 
Abounded,  to  itself  has  bareness  sealed 
The  thriftless  sods :  reft,  as  a  glorious  shield 

Of  all  its  wrought  and  painted  loveliness. 

Yet  not  quite  all,  for  here  and  there,  behold, 

A  flower,  like  those  which  made  the  summer  sweet, 

Puts  forth  some  meagre  tint  of  red  or  gold, 

To  make  the  barrenness  seem  more  complete !  — 

Such  overflow  of  life,  such  wealth  of  bliss ; 

Now,  for  remembrance  and  endurance  —  this ! 

1902 


135 


HORATIO  STEBBINS 

ON  the  same  day,  thine  by  the  Western  sea, 
Mine  where  the  Eastern  rolls  its  music  in, 
Our  work  began,  the  continent  between 

Our  sundered  ways.   Thwart  that  immensity, 

When  doubt  and  fear  had  well-nigh  mastered  me, 
How  often  has  thy  cheery  message  been 
A  trumpet  calling  me  to  rise  and  win 

O'er  foes  abject  triumphant  victory ! 

The  Eastern  and  the  Western  ocean  make 
One  music.    Even  so  thy  heart  and  mine 
Have  beat  accordant.   Silent  now  is  thine ; 

Yet  still  from  thy  great  spirit  I  will  take 
Fresh  courage  daily,  conquer  by  thy  sign, 

Be  something  braver,  better,  for  thy  sake. 

April,  1902 


136 


EDWARD   EVERETT  HALE 

A  MAN  without  a  country !   Why,  indeed, 
But  that  all  countries  underneath  the  sun 

Call  him  their  own  ?   Yet,  loved  so  much  by  all, 
Best  is  he  loved  by  that  most  happy  one 

Which,  while  rejoicing  that  it  gave  him  birth, 

Hears  the  "All  Hail !  "  which  circles  round  the  earth, 

With  grateful  heart,  —  to  every  sister  land, 
"  In  His  Name,"  offering  a  "  Helping  Hand." 

April  3,  1902 


137 


LULLABY 

Day  is  ending  ;  night  is  falling  ; 

From  the  Land  of  Drowsihead, 
Don't  you  hear  the  Sand-Man  calling, 
"  Children  all  should  be  abed  "  ? 

Go  to  sleep  !   Go  to  sleep ! 

Not  for  all  his  golden  treasure 
Will  he  sell  the  wicked  King 

Sleepy-sand  the  smallest  measure, 
Nor  for  any  precious  thing. 

Go  to  sleep !    Go  to  sleep ! 

Best  he  loves  the  poor  man's  dwelling, 
Tire  and  ache  the  surest  plea 

For  the  gift  beyond  all  telling 
Sweet  to  men  on  land  and  sea. 

Go  to  sleep !    Go  to  sleep ! 

Bless  him  for  his  magic  fetter ! 

Now,  my  sweet,  he  comes  to  you. 
Eyes  wide  open  ?    All  the  better  1 

He  will  know  just  what  to  do. 

Go  to  sleep !    Go  to  sleep  1 
1902 

138 


THE  BLACK  SNOW-CLOUD 

Who  would  have  thought  such  whiteness  lay  concealed 

Within  the  bosom  of  so  black  a  pall  ? 
Who,  that  such  strange  white  peace  the  cloud  could  yield 

When  death's  black  moment  overshadows  all  ? 

January  6,  1903 


139 


JEWEL-WEED 

DAINTY  enough  to  grace  a  lady's  ear, 

Thousands  of  blossoms  swaying  to  and  fro 
In  the  light  wind,  and  countless  butterflies 

In  the  bright  sunshine  softly  come  and  go 
On  honey  bent.     The  flowers  are  orange-hued, 

And  orange-hued  the  feasters  on  their  sweets. 
So  like  the  two  that  pretty  doubts  intrude 

Anent  this  wonder  that  my  vision  greets. 
For  half  I  deem  the  flowers  are  butterflies 

That  on  the  flowerless  stalks  have  come  to  stay, 
And  half,  or  more,  that  the  bright  butterflies 

Are  blossoms  that  the  wind  has  blown  away. 
1903 


140 


SHERMAN   HOAR 

OTHERS  he  saved  ;  himself  he  could  not  save : 
So  ran  of  old  the  taunt  of  those  who  saw 
The  Son  of  Mary  perish  by  their  law. 

Here  was  a  man  who,  like  that  great  one,  gave 

His  life  for  others :  let  the  foolish  rave, 

And  cowards  shirk;  he  from  Oblivion's  maw 
Would  pluck  a  life  exempt  from  stain  or  flaw : 

Then  sudden,  for  his  guerdon,  found  a  grave. 

But,  no !  Death  cannot  quench  the  flaming  soul. 
It  saves  itself  by  giving ;  by  its  zeal 
Of  honest  service  to  the  public  weal ; 

By  loss  of  ease -and  gain,  which  to  the  roll 
Of  God's  co-workers  of  enduring  fame 
Adds  one  more  spotless  and  inspiring  name. 
1903 


141 


WILLIAM  ELLERY  CHANNING 

A    HYMN     SUNG     AT    THE     ARLINGTON     STREET     CHURCH, 
CELEBRATING       THE      UNVEILING      OF      MR.      HERBERT 

ADAMS'S  STATUE  OF  CHANNING,  BOSTON,  JUNE  i,  1903 

SPIRIT  Divine,  who,  in  all  lands  and  ages, 
In  holy  souls  thy  dwelling-place  hast  made, 

We  bless  thee  for  thy  heroes,  saints,  and  sages, 
In  whom  thou  hast  thy  love  and  truth  displayed. 

Yea,  and  not  only  thanks  for  those  who  sought  thee 
Long  since,  and  found  thee  with  a  glad  surprise,  — 

Our  grateful  hearts  their  offerings  have  brought  thee 
For,  close  at  home,  a  faithful  one  and  wise. 

Simply  and  purely  of  thy  love  he  told  us, 
Showed  us  the  Father,  merciful  and  kind, 

Yearning  with  strong  compassion  to  enfold  us, 
In  error  wandering  and  with  passion  blind. 

He  of  our  nature's  solemn  height  assured  us, 
Welcomed  thy  likeness  in  each  human  soul, 

Ever  to  things  more  excellent  allured  us, 
Speeding  us  onward  to  the  flying  goal. 
142 


WILLIAM   ELLERY  CHANNING 

Loved  he  thy  truth  with  pure  and  perfect  passion, 
Its  coming  hailed  as  by  no  limit  bound : 

Where  thou  hadst  work  for  him  in  any  fashion, 
There  tireless,  fearless,  was  thy  prophet  found. 

Dead,  he  yet  speaketh,  and  his  voice  is  sounding 
Now  in  our  ears  as  when  our  fathers  heard : 

To  us  he  publishes  thy  grace  abounding, 
To  us  he  brings  thy  everlasting  word. 


143 


RALPH   WALDO  EMERSON 

A  POEM  READ  IN  THE  ACADEMY  OF  MUSIC,  BROOKLYN, 
N.  Y.,  AT  A  CELEBRATION  OF  THE  ONE  HUNDREDTH 
ANNIVERSARY  OF  EMERSON*S  BIRTH 

How  make  my  verse  so  simple  and  sincere 
That  it  shall  merit  nothing  now  and  here 
Of  accusation  ?   Who  may  sing  of  one 
So  simple  and  sincere  as  Emerson, 
Without  reproach  or  fear  ? 

We  who  New  England  love  because  we  drew 
From  her  our  life,  from  her  the  blood  and  thew 
Whereby  we  seek  and  yearn  and  strive  and  dare,  — 
Grave,  noble  mother,  dear  beyond  compare, 
We  bring  thee  offerings  due. 

For  he  of  thy  pure  elements  was  made, 
Thy  winds  and  waters  in  his  pulses  played, 
Thy  rocks  and  hills  to  him  their  vigor  gave, 
Its  briny  tang  thy  shore-consuming  wave, 
Its  calm  when  winds  are  laid. 
144 


RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON 

As  in  his  blood  thy  genius  worked  amain, 
So  in  his  spirit,  for  more  precious  gain, 
New  England  souls,  great  mothers  and  good  sires, 
Guarding  Religion's  deathless  altar-fires 
With  holy  fear  and  pain. 

Nor  these  alone,  but  all  the  centuries  down 
Aiders  and  friends  of  high  fulfilled  renown,  — 
Shakespeare,  revolving  his  majestic  sphere ; 
Heroic  Plutarch,  sounding  lofty  cheer ; 
Plato,  of  all  most  dear. 

Nor  less  to  him  than  voices  of  the  sages, 
From  the  deep  bosom  of  the  solemn  ages, 
Were  things  that  with  their  penetrating  ray 
In  the  strait  confines  of  the  common  day 
The  quiet  heart  engages. 

Nothing  to  him  was  common  or  unclean, 
Nothing,  so  God  had  made  it,  poor  or  mean  ; 
The  sheet  let  down  from  heaven  held  for  him 
No  stock  or  stone  without  some  presence  dim 
Of  the  one  God,  unseen. 
145 


RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON 

With  smiling  eyes  he  looked,  and  saw  unrolled 
(As  't  were  an  endless  scroll)  the  manifold 
Of  space  and  time  ;  and  what  he  saw  and  heard 
He  sang  like  some  full-throated,  joyous  bird, 
And  all  the  wonder  told. 

He  saw  the  manifold,  but  through  it  all 
He  felt  the  mighty  everlasting  thrall 
Of  the  one  Power  and  Love  which  shapes  and  warms 
The  many-millioned  world  of  beauteous  forms 
By  Igdrasil  let  fall. 

God  is,  not  was !   Thus,  in  a  faithless  time, 
Clearly  he  uttered  his  own  faith  sublime, 
Each  sending  back  to  that  eternal  fount 
Which  in  each  private  heart  doth  ever  mount 
As  in  th'  Judean  prime. 

And  still  o'er  all,  alike  for  God  and  man, 
And  wide  as  Nature's  sempiternal  plan, 
For  him  the  Ought  its  awful  mandate  sped, 
Made  thrill  with  life  the  kingdoms  of  the  dead, 
One  Law  since  worlds  began. 
146 


RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON 

That  to  obey,  he  taught,  is  life  indeed, 
And  whoso  gives  to  that  his  utmost  heed, 
Him  naught  above  nor  from  beneath  can  harm  : 
No  heaven  can  bribe  him,  and  no  hell  alarm 
This  man,  this  thinking  reed. 

Great  spirit,  purge  our  eyes  that  we  may  see 
How  in  these  times  we  best  may  honor  thee, 
Lest  with  our  lips  we  idly  praise  thy  name, 
While  still  our  lives  are  full  of  blame  and  shame, 
Our  hearts  still  far  from  thee. 


Help  hate  whate'er  by  thee  was  hated  most, 
The  lust  of  things,  the  rich  man's  sensual  boast, 
The  search  'mid  signs  and  wonders  for  the  God 
Whose  splendor  shineth  everywhere  abroad, 
And  beacons  every  coast. 

Help  us  to  love  what  to  thy  heart  was  dear,  — 
Each  season's  part  in  the  whole  bounteous  year, 
The  simple  life,  the  spirit,  first  and  last, 
To  its  own  native  centre  holding  fast 
With  heart  of  dauntless  cheer. 


RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON 

If  to  such  things  we  can,  O  friend,  attain, 
If  so  each  one  with  his  own  sceptre  reign 
O'er  his  own  life,  not  thankless  shall  we  prove 
For  thy  great  ministry  of  thought  and  love, 
Nor  live,  nor  die,  in  vain. 

May  25,  1903 


148 


THE  SCANT  SUPPLY 

There  was  not  enough  of  the  last  war  to  go  round.  —  THEODORE 
ROOSEVELT. 

Lo,  what  a  strange  lament  bursts  from  the  lips 
Of  our  bold  captain  whom  these  piping  times 
Of  peace  oppress  with  their  monotonous  rhymes 

Of  wealth  and  ease  !    No  more  the  embattled  ships 

Hurling  forth  death ;  the  foliage  rank  that  drips 
With  the  hot  blood  of  men  ;  the  hideous  crimes 
Whereby  to  honor  sneaking  treachery  climbs  ; 

No  more  the  great  hopes  suffering  vast  eclipse ! 

Mourn  for  the  scant  supply  of  foul  disease, 

Of  loathsome  wounds  that  drain  young  life  away, 
Of  limbless  bodies  and  perduring  pain ; 

Of  anguished  mothers  and  of  wives  whose  knees 
Bend  vainly  unto  God  for  those  who  stay 
So  long  and  send  no  word  and  come  no  more  again. 
1904 


149 


TIMEO   DANAOS 

ART  proud,  my  country,  that  these  mighty  ones, 
Wearing  the  jeweled  splendor  of  old  days, 
Come  bringing  prodigality  of  praise 

To  thee  amid  thy  light  of  westering  suns ; 

Bidding  their  blaring  trumpets  and  their  guns 
Salute  thee,  late  into  their  crooked  ways 
Now  fallen  ;  to  their  sorrow  and  amaze, 

Blood  of  whose  hearts  the  ancient  honor  runs  ? 

Nay,  fear  them  rather,  for  they  cry  with  glee, 
"  She  has  become  as  one  of  us,  who  gave 
All  that  she  had  to  set  a  people  free : 

She  wears  our  image  —  she  that  loved  the  slave ! 
Fear  them,  for  there  is  blood  upon  their  hands, 
And  on  their  heads  the  curse  of  ruined  lands. 
1904 


150 


"SHORE  ACRES" 

How  sweetly  it  comes  back,  how  tenderly, 
That  evening's  end  ;  no  little  thing  forgot ; 
The  fire  made  safe ;  set  back  the  steaming  pot ; 

Windows  and  door  shut  tightly  as  could  be ; 

The  tall  clock  wound ;  the  house  all  still ;  and  then 
The  dear  old  man  his  candle  takes  and  goes 
To  seek  his  own  well-earned,  prayer-blest  repose, 

His  heart  at  peace  with  all  the  sons  of  men. 

And,  when  we  to  the  end  of  toil  have  won, 
And  it  is  time  for  us  to  go  to  bed, 

May  we  as  gently  move  unto  our  rest, 
Leaving  no  simplest  needful  thing  undone, 
No  word  of  healing  gentleness  unsaid, 

Some  lamp  of  God  close  to  our  bosoms  prest. 
1904 


"O  THAT  LAND!    THAT  LAND!" 

MAY  23,  1846 

IN  my  dear  mother's  Bible,  by  the  hand 
Of  my  dear  father  written  large  and  clear, 
With  the  day  stated,  and  the  month  and  year 

And  place,  —  the  lonely  Banks  of  Newfoundland,  — 

These  simple  words  of  doubtful  meaning  stand ; 
And  much  I  wonder  what  of  hope  or  fear, 
Or  homesick  longing,  or  half-hearted  cheer, 

Thrilled  in  that  outcry  toward  some  distant  strand. 

That  land  !  What  land  ?  Yearned  his  fond  heart  that  day 
For  heaven's  height  or  for  that  humbler  place 

Where  he  had  left  his  wife  and  children  three  ? 
Divine  who  can^  Enough  for  me  to  say, 
It  is  all  one.    His  best  of  God's  pure  grace 

Was,  here  or  there,  with  his  best  loved  to  be. 
1904 


152 


LATE  KNOWLEDGE 

LIFTING  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills  from  whence 

My  help  hath  come  through  the  long  summer  days, 
They  throng  enfolded  with  the  silvery  haze 

Which  seems  more  spirit  than  a  thing  of  sense ; 

And  lo,  a  wonder !  —  that  they  borrow  thence 
Clearness  of  outline :  not  the  day-star's  rays, 
Spoiling  illusion  with  their  ruthless  blaze, 

So  fix  each  hill,  sharp,  separate,  immense. 

And  when  to  my  death-hallowed  friends  there  clings 

A  tender  mist  of  unavailing  tears, 
That  trembling  veil  such  revelation  brings 

As  never  life's  full  glare  :  straightway  appears 
Divinely  clear,  seen  in  that  softened  light, 
What  life's  hard  blaze  had  hidden  from  my  sight. 
1904 


153 


DEFIANCE 

"TAKE  what  you  can,  sirs  "  (thus  the  story  runs), 
Said  a  poor  scholar,  who  for  dearest  book 
Had  loved  his  Virgil ;  and  the  wretches  took 
The  book  away  from  him,  and  thought  his  sun's 
Light  was  put  out.    But  he  had  balked  their  rage, 
Learning  by  heart  the  Mantuan's  lofty  rhyme, 
So,  'gainst  all  spite  of  theirs  or  envious  time, 
Holding  it  safe  —  a  flawless  heritage. 

So,  dearest,  since  I  have  you  in  my  heart, 
Like  that  poor  scholar  I  those  powers  defy 
Which  threat  to  rob  me :   You  may  live  or  die, 
But  nevermore  from  me  shall  you  depart. 

I  have  you  safe  ;  "  Take  what  you  can,"  I  say ; 
"  Here  she  abides,  and  will  abide  alway." 
1904 


154 


THE  BROKEN   GLASS 

WHEN  it  was  whole,  across  the  mirror  fine 
What  images  of  strength  and  beauty  passed ! 
Here  was  the  loveliness  of  woman  glassed, 

Of  children  too,  and  only  less  divine, 

The  forms  of  rocks  and  trees,  the  glorious  shine 
Of  suns  and  stars  and  splendidly  amassed 
The  journeying  clouds ;  beneath  them  ocean's  vast 

Illimitable  surge  of  restless  brine. 

'T  is  shattered  now,  and  all  these  things  and  more  — 
Great  thoughts,  imaginations  strong  and  free  — 
Are  in  this  glass  reflected  brokenly ; 

Crazed  is  the  dance  upon  this  polished  floor. 
Poor  useless  frame  that  held  this  sacred  trust, 
Too  soon  thou  canst  not  crumble  into  dust. 


1904 


155 


FAINT,   YET   PURSUING 

THE   LAST  JOURNEY,  FROM  CHESTERFIELD  TO  NEW  YORK, 
SEPTEMBER    25,   1904 

SPLITTING  the  evening  silence  like  a  wedge, 

Our  flying  train  sped  its  appointed  way, 
And  high  above  the  black  horizon's  edge 

The  full-orbed  moon  made  night  a  softer  day. 
And  ever  as  she  sailed  through  cloud  and  clear, 

One  faithful  star  toiled  onward  in  her  wake, 
Seeming  as  if,  with  heart  of  dauntless  cheer, 

Night's  argent  queen  it  hoped  to  overtake. 

In  vain  the  toil,  and  to  my  inward  eye 
I  was  that  star,  the  moon  my  flying  goal, 

Which  through  the  spaces  of  an  ampler  sky 
Still  lured  and  baffled  my  adventurous  soul, 

Defeated  ever,  yet  divinely  blest : 

One  more  insatiate  striver  for  the  best. 


156 


EUctrotyped  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &•  Co. 
Cambridge,  MM.,  U.S.A. 


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